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. V . tv. 




The Reds of the Midi. 

An Episode of the French Revolution. 
By FELIX GRAS. 

Translated from the Proven9al by- 
Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier. 

With an Introduction by Thomas A. Janvier. 
With Frontispiece. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


‘‘ It is doubtful whether in the English language we 
have had a more powerful, impressive, artistic picture of 
the French Revolution from the revolutionist’s point of 
view.” — New York Mail a 7 id Express. 

“ Much excellent revolutionary fiction in many lan- 
guages has been written since the announcement of the 
expiration of 1889, or rather since the contemporary pub- 
lication of old war records newly discovered, but there is 
none more vivid than this story of men of the south, 
written by one of their own blood,” — Boston Herald. 

“ A delightful romance. . . . The story is not only 
historically accurate ; it is one of continuous and vivid 
interest. ” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ A delightful piece of literature, of a rare and ex- 
quisite flavor,” — Buffalo Express. 

“ Simply enthralling. . . . The narrative abounds in 
vivid descriptions of stirring incidents and wonderfully 
attractive depictions of character,” — Boston Beacon. 

“ The characters are living, stirring, palpitating hu- 
man beings, who will glow in the reader’s memory long 
after he has turned over the last pages of this remarkably 
fascinating book.” — London Daily Mail. 

“ The author has a rare power of presenting vivid 
and lifelike pictures. He is a true artist. . . . His warm, 
glowing Provencal imagination sees that tremendous bat- 
talion of death even as the no less warm and glowing im- 
agination of Carlyle saw it.” — London Daily Chronicle. * 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 


THE TERROR 


A ROMANCE OF THE 
FRENCH REVOLUTION 


TRANSLATED FROM T|^ PROVENgAL OF 

FELIX GRAS 

AUTHOR OF THE REDS OF THE MIDI 


BY 

CATHARINE A. JANVIER 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


Copyright, 1898, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


rights reserved. 



rRRRF.TTT? \ * 


LA TERREUR. 

Copyright, 1897, by D. Appleton and Company. 

l9i COt V, 

1Q90J 



CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER page 

PROLOGUE I 

I. — THE SEARCH FOR PASCALET . ... q 

II . — CALISTO DES SABLEES I7 

III. — pascalet’s three crown pieces . . 27 

IV. — THE DEPARTURE OF THE MARSEILLES BAT- 

TALION . . . . . . .39 

V. — THE THREE MURDERERS IN PLANCHOT’s 

HOUSE 45 

VI. — THE PALACE IN THE RUE DE BRETAGNE . 58 

VII. — THE TESTIMONY OF THE KNIFE . . *75 

VIII. — A NIGHT OF DREAD 83 

IX. — AN HONEST MAN OR — A RASCAL.^ . . 9I 

X. — THE GARDEN OF HELL IO3 

XL — Adeline’s NEW GOWN ii6 

XII. — THE FAMINE IN AVIGNON . . . . I27 

XIII. — CALISTO PERFECTS HIS PLANS . . . I38 

XIV. — PEACE in THE MIDST OF STORM . . . I48 

XV. — THE AVIGNON COACH 161 

XVI. — THE CI-DEVANT MARQUISE ADELAIDE . -174 

XVII. — THE MOB BEFORE THE TEMPLE TOWER . 181 

XVIII. — LAZULI IS THROWN TO THE WOLVES . . I94 

XIX. — THE KNIFE AGAIN TESTIFIES .... 204 

XX. — A NIGHT OF DREAD 213 

XXL — A PERILOUS ESCAPE 222 

XXII. — THE PLANCHOTS HEAR A THRILLING STORY . 23 1 

iii 


IV 


®l)e QLcxxox. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. — WILLIAM THE PATRIOT .... ^39 

XXIV. — A DRUNKEN SEARCH PARTY . . . 246 

XXV. — IN PARIS AND IN AVIGNON .... 257 

XXVI. — CHRISTMAS EVE . . . . . . 269 

XXVII. — THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW . . . 279 

XXVIII. — THE SPARROWS OF PARIS . . . . 288 

XXIX. — GOOD NEWS OF AN OLD FRIEND . . 297 

XXX. — THE SOUNDING OF THE TOCSIN . • . 307 

XXXI. — THE FESTIVAL OF THE GUILLOTINE . - 3^7 

XXXII. — IN THE DAWNING 326 

XXXIII. — THE LANGUAGE OF THE ROAD . . . 333 

XXXIV. — STORIES OF THE ROAD .... 342 
XXXV. — A FIERCE VENGEANCE .... 35O 
XXXVI. — THE SECRET OF JEAN CARITOUS . . 360 

XXXVII. — IN THE TURBULENT SOUTH . . . 37O 

XXXVIII. — THE ARRIVAL AT AVIGNON . . " . 381 

XXXIX. — JOURDAN CHOP-HEAD .... 389 

XL. — THE FREEING OF THE JEWS . . . 4OO 

XLI. — WOLVES EAT WOLVES .... 409 

XLII. — A WHIRLWIND IN AVIGNON . . • 419 

XLIII. — THE NEW PASCALET 429 

XLIV. — IN THE HOUSE OF THE ROPEMAKER . 436 
XLV. — JACQUEMART STRIKES HIS BELL . . 445 

XLVI. — LAZULI TAKES THE HELM . . . .455 

XLVII. — LOVE SICKNESS, AND A CURE FOR IT .461 
XLVIII. — THE WAGGING OF CRUEL TONGUES . . 472 

XLIX. — JOURDAN CHOP-HEAD’s GENDARMES . 482 
L. — TO THE HOUSE OF JEAN CARITOUS . -491 

LI. — FOR LIBERTY AND FOR FRANCE! . . 498 

LII. — THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL . . 505 


THE TERROR. 


PROLOGUE. 

I WAS just ten years old when my father har- 
nessed up our good old sorrel horse and took me 
in our blue cart — along with my bristly pig-skin 
covered trunk and my mattress in its blue-and- 
white checked case — to the little seminary of La 
Sainte Garde, a dozen miles or so away from our 
house near Malemort in Provence. My poor 
father (God rest his soul !) said that I must learn a 
scrap or so of Latin, and a bit of Greek, and a little 
cyphering. 

It was very hard on me to be shut up in a big 
dull schoolroom, for I had lived all my barefooted 
child-life in the open air — running after my father’s 
plough in the fields or climbing trees for birds’ 
nests. Yes, it was hard to be properly shod, and 
harder still to sit all day long on a bench in front 
of a desk loaded down with school-books — Homer 
and Sophocles and Virgil, and dictionaries almost 
as heavy as my father’s plough ! 

One beautiful bright day all of us, myself and 
my fellow-convicts in this penitentiary of learning, 
were out for our walk : marching along two by 
two, like a chain gang, in the wake of our stern 


2 


®l)e terror. 


gaoler, the head master of the Seminary, Monsieur 
Flechaire. But this was a day of days! As we 
looked about us we saw the softly sweeping hill- 
sides all russet with the ripe harvest. On the 
brownish-red trunks of the almond trees, and on 
the greenish-gray trunks of the olives, the cigales 
were singing their shrill harvest song. Beside 
the threshing-floors the peasants were piling, as 
high as belfries, great heaps of sheaves. And these 
signs that the summer was upon us sent thrilling 
through all our little souls at the same moment 
the same glad thought : “The holidays are almost 
here! ” 

That day at recess — instead of playing pris- 
oners’ base or hide-and-seek — we gathered in little 
intimate groups and talked of the delights that 
were in store for us. 

“1 am going shooting,” said a big boy who 
came from the great city of Carpentras. “ My 
father’s promised to buy me a gun. 1 shall shoot 
quails in the clover-fields, and up on the moun- 
tains 1 shall shoot hares.” 

“ y^nd I,” said a boy from Vaucluse, “have a 
little boat and a net. 1 shall catch trout in the 
Sbfgue. There are trout in the Sorgue as big as 
my leg ! ” 

Then a third boy, whose father kept a tin-shop 
in Avignon, spoke up. “I have an uncle in Mar- 
seilles,” he said, “ who keeps a great big cafe, and 
I’m to pay him a visit. He says that I shall play 
billiards all day long in the cafe ; and he says 
he’ll take me out sailing on the sea! ” 

And so it went on from one to another, while 


Prologue. 


3 


the thought of such delights set us to staring as 
goggle-eyed as kittens lapping cream. 1 alone 
remained silent; and the other boys looked as 
though they rather pitied me, in a superior sort of 
way. 

For the moment I was tongue-tied, and I felt 
ashamed and confused that I also could not bring 
out a good boast. Really, my father was very 
well-to-do. Had he chosen to, he might have 
given me a gun. But, like all peasants, if not 
exactly stingy, he was saving and close. His 
thoughts about his farm so filled his mind that at 
times 1 think he forgot about me a little. 

All the same, I didn’t want the boys to think 
that 1 didn’t have any fun in the holidays; and so, 
presently, after casting about in my mind a little, 

I said loftily: “As for me, I shall have my place 
among the neighbours on the benches in front of 
the Town Hall, when we all gather there in the 
cool of the evening, and 1 shall hear Old Pascal, 
the son of La Patine, tell stories of the Revolution 
and of the great Emperor’s wars.” 

At this there was a general titter. “He is 
going to spend his holiday in listening to an old 
man tell Mother Goose stories! ” they cried. And 
then they seemed to be really sorry for me ! 

But at this my blood got up a little. “ Mother 
Goose stories, indeed!” I answered. “They’re 
nothing of the kind! They are wonderful true 
stories. They are real history. You should have 
heard the one that Old Pascal told us last winter, 
evening after evening, while we sat around him in 
the shoemaker’s shop. It was about what happened 


4 


®l)e (terror. 


to him after he ran away from Malemort. He had 
to run away because the Marquis d’Ambrun’s game- 
keeper, a big fellow named Surto, wanted to kill 
him.” 

“Wanted to kill him! ” and there was a buzz. 

“Yes,” 1 went on, “wanted to kill him! You 
see, one day Pascalet — as they called Old Pascal 
when he was little — had got up into a tree after a 
bird’s nest. And while he was up there, hidden 
among the branches, the Marquise and Surto came 
under the tree, and he heard them saying that they 
meant to kill the Marquis. And they found out 
that he had heard them, because they saw him 
come down the tree and run away.” 

“ And what then ?” 

“Why, the Marquis’s daughter. Mademoiselle 
Adeline — who was as sweet and good as she could 
be — let Pascalet out of the cellar where Surto had 
shut him up to starve.” 

“ And then 

“Why then the good priest of Malemort, 
Monsieur Randoulet, got him off safe at night and 
he went all the way afoot to Avignon. It was in 
Avignon that he met Vauclair. Vauclair was a 
Sergeant in the National Guard, and he was as 
kind to Pascalet as he could be. And so was 
Lazuli, Vauclair’s wife. She took as much care 
of Pascalet as she did of Clairet, her own little son. 
It was in Avignon that Vauclair and Pascalet en- 
listed in the Marseilles Battalion when it came march- 
ing through, and they went on with it to Paris to 
help take the King’s Castle. And while the Bat- 
talion was on its march, it was a dreadfully hard 


Prolojgtic. 


5 


march, Lazuli managed to rescue Adeline from a 
horrible old woman with a big knife named La 
Jacarasse. Adeline’s own mother had given her 
to La Jacarasse to be killed. You see, if Adeline 
was killed, and her brother Robert was killed, and 
the Marquis was killed too, then the Marquise and 
Surto would have all their money.” 

The boys had crowded closer and closer around 
me. They were listening with all their ears. De- 
lighted with the impression that I was making, I 
went on : 

‘ ‘ And then Pascalet became Adeline’s little lover. 
That was while they, and Sergeant Vauclair and 
his wife, were all living together in Paris with a 
joiner named Planchot in the Impasse Guemenee 
— right close by the ruins of the Bastille. And 
then Pascalet and Vauclair and the other men of 
the Marseilles Battalion took the King’s Castle, 
after a tremendous fight in which ever so many 
of them were killed. And Pascalet was badly 
hurt himself. He had the tip of his little finger 
shot away. But he never noticed it until the fight 
was all over. Adeline used to tie up his hurt fin- 
ger every day, and rigged a sling for him to carry 
his hand in. They were ever so fond of each 
other — though she was the daughter of a Marquis 
and he was only a peasant’s son.” 

“ And how did it all end ? ” 

“Well, one day Pascalet didn’t behave very 
well. He went off with a couple of Federals of 
the Battalion — they’d just got their pay — and had 
a rousing good breakfast in a tavern they came 
across kept by a woman from Aramon (the little 


6 


Che QTerror. 


town down the Rhone below Avignon, you know) ; 
and then all three of them got as drunk as lords. 
They went reeling all over Paris; and at last, at 
night, they stumbled into the prison of the Abbaye, 
where the Paris Reds were killing the Aristocrats 
with iron bars. And Pascalet got left in there by 
the others, and he saw Surto kill the Marquis 
d’Ambrun — knock his head in with an iron bar! 
And he saw La Jacarasse cut the gold buttons off 
the coat of the Marquis with her big knife; and he 
came mighty close to getting killed there himself. 
He didn’t — but it was just by the barest squeak 
that he got away. 

“ His scare made him sober again, and then he 
felt horridly because he’d got drunk and spent all 
his money — especially as he owed three crowns 
to Vauclair. He was so ashamed that he didn’t 
dare to go back to Planchot’s house and meet 
them all, and so he enlisted in the Army of the 
Republic and went right off with his regiment 
to the frontier. But he paid Vauclair the three 
crowns, all the same. They were giving a bounty 
of just three crowns to recruits, and one of the re- 
cruiting officers lived close by Planchot in the Im- 
passe Guemenee and knew him. And so Pascalet 
sent the money by him to Vauclair, and sent word 
what had become of him — for he knew that they’d 
get into a regular state about him when he didn’t 
come home. And so that was the way he got 
into the great Emperor’s wars.” 

“ And what became of Adeline 

“ Well, you see that's just what I don’t know. 
That’s the very story that I want to get Old Pascal 


Prologue. 


7 


to tell. All 1 know is that Surto and La Jacarasse, 
who had murdered her father and her brother 
Robert, hunted all over Paris after her so that they 
might murder her too. And I know that she had 
all sorts of a bad time getting away from them and 
getting away from the guillotine — for she was a 
noble, you see, and if the Reds had caught her 
they’d have sliced her head right off. But she did 
get away, and Old Pascal must know how she did 
it; and that’s what I want him to tell. It’ll be a 
story to stretch your ears out as long as your 
arms! ” 

“ Why, I’d rather hear it than go fishing in my 
boat! ” said the boy from Vaucluse. 

“And I’m not sure that I wouldn’t rather hear 
it than go shooting! ” said the boy whose father 
was going to give him a gun. 

Even the boy who was to play billiards in his 
uncle’s cafe in Marseilles said that he was sorry he 
wasn’t going home with me — to sit every evening 
with the rest of us in our village and hear Old 
Pascal tell the story of what happened to Adeline 
in Paris, and of how she managed to save her 
head on her shoulders and to get safe away from 
Surto and La Jacarasse. 

And after all that, you may fancy how dumb- 
founded I was when Old Pascal said in so many 
words that he couldn’t tell me Adeline’s story, be- 
cause he didn’t know it to tell! 

“ No, my boy,” he answered when I made my 
request to him, “I do not know what hap- 
pened to her. I do not know how she escaped. 


8 


9ri)e terror. 


I only know that in some way she did get safe out 
of Paris, and back to Avignon ; and that in Avignon, 
only a little while after the Terror ended, she died 
in the Convent of the Ursulines — where she had 
taken the vows and was a holy nun. But I never 
saw her nor spoke with her again 1 ” And the old 
man’s voice was hoarse and broken as he said this, 
and as he turned away from me quickly 1 saw that 
his eyes were wet with tears. 

And yet, in the end, I did hear Adeline’s story. 
It was told to me by the old Almoner of the Ursu- 
lines, when 1 was grown up to be a young man 
of twenty and was sent to Avignon by my father 
to be bound ’prentice to a notary and made learned 
in the law. And just as 1 heard it then from the 
old Almoner 1 now shall tell it to you : from thread 
to finished seam. 


Felix Gras. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE SEARCH FOR PASCALET. 

The day had come when the Marseilles Battal- 
ion was to leave Paris and return to the South, for 
its good work in Paris was done. 

And that day all was trouble and dismay in joiner 
Planchof s little household — while they waited and 
waited, and no Pascalet appeared. As the morn- 
ing wore on without his coming the whole family, 
Vauclair, Lazuli, gentle little Adeline, Planchot’s 
wife, and even Planchot himself, grew more and 
more alarmed. It could not be possible, they said 
to each other, that he had done anything for which 
he had been arrested and imprisoned. He was not 
that sort of a boy. But while the members of the 
little group thus assured each other that nothing 
could have happened to him, and tried to believe 
in what they said, they remained unconvinced by 
their own hopeful assertions and shook their heads 
doubtfully as they looked at each other with moist 
eyes. 

Vauclair heaved a deep sigh as he said at last: 
“The Battalion starts this evening. Must 1 leave 
my Pascalet behind ? ” He stood up as he spoke, 
and added: “It’s just impossible. 1 have a good 
half day before me and 1 shall go and hunt for him. 

1 must find him — or find what has become of 
him.” 

These last words added so sharp a pang to the 

9 


lO 


®l)e (Eertor. 


anxious pain felt by Adeline and Lazuli that they 
could not speak. As to Clairet, he was too little 
to understand what it was all about, and went on 
playing with the shavings. 

“One thing’s certain,” said Planchot, “and 
that is that sitting around here snivelling won’t 
find that boy. We’ve got to hunt for him. Come 
along, Vauclair. You go one way and I’ll go an- 
other. We’ll hunt every where — and it’ll be mighty 
queer if we don’t find him, or find somebody who 
can put us on his track. But to be sure,” Planchot 
added, “looking for a man in this stone-heap of 
a Paris is like looking for a needle in a bundle of 
hay.” 

Leaving a sad little group behind them, the 
two men went off, and through the streets of Paris 
they tramped and tramped. In likely and in unlike- 
ly places they looked for Pascalet — in taverns, in 
gambling hells, even in houses of ill-fame. They 
sought for news of him at the police-headquarters 
in the Hotel de Ville; they searched for him in the 
city prisons; they examined the “drowned men’s 
benches” — the slabs of stone beside the Seine 
where in those days were laid out, as in these 
days at the Morgue, the luckless ones whom pov- 
erty or despair or madness or love or crime had 
plunged into the river. But everywhere their 
search was in vain. 

About noon, tired and footworn and discour- 
aged, Vauclair entered the barracks at the Corde- 
liers where the Federals were assembled. There 
he learned that Pascalet had spent the preceding 
day and evening with Peloux and Margan, and 
that they had lost sight of him in the big building 
where the Aristos were being butchered with iron 
bars. 

“ But you don’t mean to say,” exclaimed Mar- 


®l)e 0earcl) for JJascakt. 


gan, his eyes still red from the results of his night's 
frolic, “that little Pascalet did not go straight 
home ? ■’ 

“ He did not." 

“You don’t mean it, Vauclair.^” 

“1 do." 

“ But he still had some wits left in him when 
we saw him last. Peloux! oh Peloux! Here — 
wake up! Here’s Vauclair asking about Pascalet." 
So saying Margan shook Peloux, who was asleep 
face down on a table. Peloux at last raised his 
head, stretched himself, yawned, rubbed his eyes 
and said: “Hullo! what’s the row.^ where are 
we.^" Then, as he roused up completely he 
added: “What an ass I am, I was dreaming we 
were at the Aramon girl’s eating fried cod- 
fish! " 

“I’m not talking to you about fried cod-fish." 

“Well, what is it 

“ Here’s Vauclair who has lost sight of Pasca- 
let and wants to know where we left him." 

“Where we left him when we were buzzing 
full •’ 

“ Yes — last night." 

“Well, you know as well as 1 do that it was 
at that place that at first we took for the barracks 
and then for a drinking shop — until we saw people 
being knocked down and killed with iron bars. 1 
even remember that as we were coming away 
they were bringing in a load of straw to be laid on 
the ground to sop up the blood. The blood was 
nearly ankle-deep there." 

“Well, that’s just what 1 said. Vauclair, it 
was there that we lost him." 

“You mean to say he has not come back," 
said Peloux. 

“No," said Margan. 


12 


terror. 


“ If you had listened to me we would not have 
lost him.” 

“Oh. hold your tongue.” 

“ I tell you that after we got out into the street, 
where we thought he had gone before us, I heard 
his voice in the building. He was calling us. 
‘Lou.Peloux! Lou Margan!’ I seemed to hear 
him call twice.” 

“You’re all wrong.” 

“ No, I’m not. And now you say no one has 
seen him since. I’m afraid something has hap- 
pened to him! ” 

Vauclair while listening to all this had grown 
pale as death, and suddenly burst forth furiously. 
“Are you telling me the truth Is it true that 
Pascalet went into that awful death-hole, and that 
you left him there all alone } Is that true, I say ” 

“We went in without knowing what was 
going on,” Margan answered, greatly confused 
and fully understanding Vauclair’s just wrath. 
“ We came away as soon as we saw the beastly 
mess they were making, and there we lost Pasca- 
let in the crowd. Peloux thinks that he stayed 
behind with the murderers. I think he left before 
we did, and so it stands between us.” 

“/ say he stayed behind. I heard him when 
he called us. You are as clod-headed as a red 
donkey, Margan. Once you’ve said a thing, it’s 
said and done for. We didn’t go back for the kid, 
and now you see what’s come of it.” 

“And you call yourselves men!” burst out 
Vauclair, folding his arms tight and fixing the two 
men with furious flashing eyes. “Holy thunder 
of God! I don’t see what keeps me from calling 
you both miserable cowards. To make a boy of 
that age drunk, and then to leave him in the thick 
of a lot of murderers — and he in his Marseilles 


Scarcl) for |)ascalct. 


13 


Battalion uniform with his cockade on ! Now peo- 
ple can say that we are robbers from the Toulon 
galleys, that we are the scrapings of the port of 
Marseilles, that we are a set of thieves and mur- 
derers! And where is this damned house where 
you left him ? Is it far from here ?” 

No, no,” answered Margan, lowering his voice 
as if trying to pacify Vauclair. “It is quite near — 
on the left as you go down toward the river.” 

“ I know that place,” said Vauclair, who knew 
Paris well. “ It is the prison of the Abbaye.” 

As he spoke, he started off on a run; and pres- 
ently, still running, he came to the prison door. 
The door was wide open as on the previous night, 
and before him there yawned the vaulted passage- 
way choked with a crowd of dishevelled women 
and blood-splashed maddened sans-culottes. The 
poor prisoners still were coming down the great 
stairway, and as they reached the bottom of it the 
life was smashed out of them with iron bars. As 
Vauclair entered he was half-choked by the smoth- 
ering steam from the still warm blood. Through 
all the straw that had been thrown on it, it spurted 
up under his footsteps as the wet foulness spurts 
out of manure when the farmhands are clearing 
out cow-stables or pig-pens. This did not stop 
Vauclair in his search. He looked carefully around, 
while with fists and elbows he fought his way 
through the crowd of bloody brutes. He could 
not help smirching himself with blood as he passed 
on, for from head to foot both men and women 
were soaking red. At the foot of the great stair- 
way he saw the table where sat the three judges. 
Two of them were snoring and the other was 
drowsing. They were past being aroused by the 
dull thuds of the iron bars ; nor did they notice the 
jets of blood dappling their caps, their faces, their 


14 


®l)e ^Terror. 


arms and legs. As Vauclair pushed his way toward 
the table, his progress was barred by a huge sans- 
culotte who never budged when Vauclair stuck his 
elbow into him. At last he said: “Citizen, why 
are you pushing so hard ? I’ve sprained only one 
wrist so far. As soon as I’ve sprained the other 
you shall have my place. That’s a bargain.” 

“ 1 don’t want your place; 1 want a young fel- 
low I’m looking for.” 

“ An Aristo that you want to save ? That’s a 
waste of time, citizen. There’s no quarter for any 
Aristos! Lord, how jolly! Look at 'em — one after 
another down they come, and down they go, 
smashed all to bits! The judges are so dead asleep 
they don’t even ask for the names.” 

“ I’m not looking for Aristocrats,” said Vauclair 
shortly. “I’m looking for a young Federal, hardly 
more than a boy. He belongs to the Marseilles 
Battalion. He was here in the night sometime. 1 
want to find out if he is still here, or what has be- 
come of him. You haven’t seen him, have you 

The big sans-culotte turned pale, and to hide 
his emotion stamped with his bloody heel on the 
head of an old man who had just dropped down in 
front of him. The old man was the ci-devant 
Comte de la Vernede — dying from three knife 
thrusts in his throat given him by a young sans- 
culotte : who stumbled as he tried to kick the old 
man in the face, slipped in the bloody muck, and 
lunging forward nearly stuck his big knife into 
Vauclair's breast. 

“ Ugh, you brute beast ! ” said Vauclair. “ Look 
out what you’re about or I’ll beat the life out of you 
with my fists!” Then turning to the big sans- 
culotte, Te repeated his question. 

“Tell me if you saw the boy. It will be a real 
relief to me.” 


Searcl) for JJascalct. 


15 


“Oh yes, I saw the scamp. What do you 
want with him ? ” 

“I want to get hold of him. He’s like my 
own child to me. Since yesterday, when we lost 
sight of him, we’re all upside down at home — my 
wife, my little boy, and a young girl whom we 
saved from the jaws of death and took to live with 
us just as we did him ! We’re from down South, 
from near Avignon — as perhaps you may guess,” 
said Vauclair with a smile. “The women do 
nothing but whimper about Pascalet, dear little 
Pascalet! If you know anything about him — • 
say so.” 

“ I can’t tell you where he is,” said the big sans- 
culotte, drawing back like a man who had sud- 
denly caught sight of his mortal enemy. “ But I 
can tell you he didn’t stay here very long. He 
tried to save an Aristo from death^ and so nearly 
caught his own. But it was early and the judges 
were wide awake, and so they packed him off to 
his Battalion. 1 haven’t laid eyes on him since, 
and 1 don’t know what became of him. If 1 see 
him again, shall I send him to you ? And where ? 
Where do you live ? ” 

“We are in the Impasse Guemenee just now, 
at the house of Planchot the joiner. But next week 
my wife and family start for Avignon by coach. I 
leave this afternoon with the Marseilles Battalion. 
Say, citizen, 1 can count on you, can’t 1 

“You can count on me, citizen,” answered the 
sans-culotte as he turned away from Vauclair. 

Vauclair felt greatly relieved. Whatever else 
might have happened, Pascalet certainly had had 
no share in the cruel work going on. Instead of 
slaughtering, he had tried to save from the slaughter. 
Doubtless the little fellow would be at Planchot’s 
in plenty of time to go off with the Battalion; and 


i6 


®l)c ®crtar. 


if not, why he could return to Avignon in the 
coach with Lazuli and Adeline and little Clairet. 

Disgusted and sickened by the bloody work 
going on at the Abbaye, but comforted and reas- 
sured as regarded Pascalet, Vauclair went to the 
barracks at the Cordeliers; there to receive his 
marching orders, and to prepare to start in the late 
afternoon. 

As he walked along, he contentedly said to 
himself : “I was sure that boy wouldn’t do any- 
thing really wrong. Well, now then, just to think 
of it! That little kid tried to save the life of one of 
those poor wretches, and then the brutes packed 
him off about his business! And to think of those 
other fools making him drink like a fish! And at 
his age! They couldn’t have had an ounce of sense 
left in their noddles! He’s asleep now, no doubt, 
in some doorway or on a bench somewhere.” 


CHAPTER II. 


CALISTO DES SABLEES. 

Hardly had Vauclair got fairly away than the 
big sans-culotte hastily left the Abbaye too — pass- 
ing the river by the rope-ferry, traversing the Place 
du Carrousel, thence onward through one street 
after another until he had crossed almost the width 
of Paris, always bearing to the left and up toward 
the Mont des Martres. At last he stopped, at the 
low door of a forlorn damp dark house in the Rue 
des Vieux Chemins. He knocked, and promptly 
a voice called out : “ Who’s there ? " 

‘Mt is I!” 

You — Surto ? ” 

“Yes, yes. Open quick!” 

The two bolts creaked, the latch grated; and 
then Surto and La Jacarasse were together in the 
dark passage-way, so dark that though they could 
hear, they could not see each other. 

“What’s the matter asked La Jacarasse, as 
she shot the two bolts and gave two turns to the 
big key. 

“The matter ? ” Surto answered. “ The matter 
is that I know where to find Adeline.” 

“Adeline! Mademoiselle Adeline who got 
away from me ? " 

“Yes, Adeline. My Marquise’s girl, whom 
you didn’t dare throw into the Rhone as you 
promised, and who slipped like an eel out of your 

17 


i8 


©error. 


fingers in Paris. Now fve snared her, and with 
thumb and finger I’ll squeeze the life out of her 
slender throat just as I would do to a nestling ! ” 

While they talked the two were feeling their 
way through the long dark passage. At the end 
of it they groped about until they got hold of the 
sticky dirty railing of a steep stairway. Surto 
went first; La Jacarasse, puffing and blowing, fol- 
lowed as well as she could, grunting out between 
whiles. 

“Then it’s all right now. We can be sure not 
one of the family will be left behind to bother us. 
I’ve found a hiding place for the box of gold, and 
may 1 be scratched raw if any one ever can find it 
there! I tried to count over our lovely pile of 
gold — and there was such a lot that I didn’t 
know how to count to the end ! Then your 
old Marquise came a-bothering me and I had to 
stop.” 

“As to that old woman,” said Surto, lowering 
his voice as he spoke, “I’m getting fairly sick of 
her! I’m not so sure but what the same day that 
sees her daughter Adeline’s tongue choked out of 
her mouth will see the old hag kicked into hell — 
where they’ll be mighty glad to have her! ” 

“Right you are in all that — and then we will 
have nothing to trouble us any more.” 

“Thafs what you believe, is it.^” said Surto 
as they turned to the left and went into a dark 
room, a sort of kitchen, lighted only by a window 
looking down on a deserted court full of rubbish 
and rotten kitchen leavings over which big rats 
were scampering. 

“Do I believe that?” said La Jacarasse, as 
puffing and blowing she plumped down into a 
chair and fanned herself with her apron. “Cer- 
tainly thafs what I believe. You’ve blown out 


Calisto bes Sablccs. 


19 


Count Robert’s brains. You’ve stamped the life 
out of the Marquis. When you’ve choked Ade- 
line and kicked your old Marquise to death, I’d 
like to know who’s left to be afraid of There'll 
be nobody to make you give up this fine morsel ” — 
and La Jacarasse lovingly stroked the heavy triple- 
locked strong-box full of gold pieces. It was the 
box that Surto had brought from the house in the 
Rue des Douze Fortes on the same day that he 
and Planchot found the poor Marquis and had him 
taken off to the prison of the Abbaye. 

But Surto answered moodily: “There’s still 
one more to get rid of.” 

“ Who.?^” 

“Pascalet! That devil’s imp knows every- 
thing. He saw me at the Malemort hospital, he 
saw me at the King’s Castle, he saw me at the 
killing in the Abbaye last night. I believe I’d 
rather get a grip of that scorpion than even of little 
Adeline. But there, we’re jawing too much and 
doing too little. Get me some hot water. I want 
to get this sticky blood off my arms. Then I 
must cut, or I’ll miss my chance. The Marseilles 
Battalion leaves Paris to-day. You remember 
Vauclair from Avignon ? The Vauclair you’re al- 
ways talking about Well, he is lodging with 
his wife in the Impasse Guemenee with a joiner, 
and Adeline is there with them, and most likely 
that little devil of a Pascalet too. After the Battal- 
ion leaves Paris, Vauclair’s wife and Adeline will 
be here alone for a while waiting for the Avignon 
coach. That’s when I shall get hold of the girl. 
Vauclair might give me trouble. We might even 
burn some powder together. But I can easily 
manage two women.” 

“ I'll go along,” said La Jacarasse, as she poured 
a pot-full of hot water into a deep pan, “and if 


20 


0^I)e terror. 


Vauclair or his weasel-faced wife tries to bother 
us, I’ll show them how La Jacarasse can rip up 
some other things besides pigs! ” 

“None of that,” said Surto, as he plunged his 
face into the pan. “Not a bit of it. You’ll stay 
here. We must never lose sight of the old Mar- 
quise. It would be a pretty thing if in trying to 
catch the wren we let the vulture fly away. 
You’ll look after her, and you’ll see to it she 
doesn’t get out if she has a fancy that way. Early 
this morning only, the old thing made me very mis- 
trustful of her. When I told her that her Marquis 
was dead, beaten to death in the Abbaye prison, 
and I showed her the gold buttons you had torn 
off his coat, she began to cry and to make such a 
row that I had to throw her on her bed and stop 
her yells by holding her mouth shut. Afterwards, 
to be sure, she began to make up to me and 
wanted to kiss and be friends. I know the old 
jade through and through, as well as if I’d had the 
making of her. She’s quite the kind to get in a 
stew all of a sudden about what has happened 
and then she’ll kick over the vinegar jar and pour 
out all she knows, screeching out everywhere who 
we are and what we’ve done. And then a pretty 
mess we’d be in.” 

As Surto talked he kept on with his washing, 
while the water in the pan turned to a deeper and 
a deeper red. When he had finished he looked 
around for something on which to wipe his drip- 
ping face and hands. La Jacarasse handed him 
her apron, at the same time saying: “You are 
right. I’ll stay here to look after the old woman, 
and I’ll take good care of the swag too. That’s 
what I love — the bright big gold pieces! All the 
same you’d better not go alone. No one can tell 
what might happen. You can find some one to 


(Halisto bcs Sablcca. 


21 


lend a hand — you’ve helped a good many your- 
self ! ” 

“Don’t worry. There’ll be enough of us to 
carry off Adeline and Pascalet too, if he’s there; 
and to settle Vauclair and his wife and any one 
else who gets in our way.” 

“But look here, Surto,” said Lajacarasse low- 
ering her voice, “don’t you let too many people 
know our secrets. That bastard of Monsieur de la 
Vernede’s knows a good deal already, and he’s got 
a good long tongue of his own. Couldn’t you 
carry the thing out with him ? He’s no better 
than we are, and if we got him into the same box 
with us he’d never dare to squeal.” 

“That’s just what I’ve been thinking myself. 
But two men would hardly be enough to force 
their way into the joiner’s house. There would 
be fisticuffs sure, and perhaps knives and pistols 
too before we could grab that little jade who stands 
between us and a nice quiet life. She’s got to die, 
that’s sure. It will take at least three of us to do 
the business.” 

“ I’ve thought of something, Surto.” 

“Well, go ahead.” 

“Your breeches and your coat — your uniform, 
you know, of the Garde Nationale — are up stairs.” 

“ Well, what of it .^” 

“1 could put ’em on. Even if 1 am only a 
woman. I’m worth more than two men.” 

“And who’ll look after the Marquise ? ” 

“Oh, you lock her up in her rooms, and we’ll 
just let her stay locked up. It won’t take more 
than two hours to put the whole thing through.” 

“ If you are sure you are brave enough 

“Get out! Don’t you know me .^” 

“ What will people say when they see a woman 
dressed up as a National Guard ? ” 


22 


QLctxot, 


“How can anyone know, you ass’s spawn! 
I’ll stick my four hairs up under a red cap. And 
look — I’ve about as mVich beard as you!” 

“Well, maybe you’re right,” said Surto 
thoughtfully, as he sipped at a glass of brandy that 
La Jacarasse had poured out for him. “Yes, you 
are about right. I’ll go round and tell Calisto des 
Sablees to be ready this evening about six o’clock. 
The Battalion leaves at five, and so Vauclair will 
be out of the way when we go after the bird.” 

Calisto des Sablees was the body-servant of the 
Comte de la Vernede. He was a foundling, 
abandoned when three years old at Les Sablees 
on the estates of the Comte de la Vernede. No 
one knew whence he came. No one ever claimed 
him. The Count, who was a childless widower, 
took charge of him out of pity and had him well 
educated by the Vicar of Aramon; and then, as he 
grew up, he took the boy into his household as 
his valet de chambre. Little by little the Count 
had entrusted almost all his affairs to him, and 
never tired of praising his dear Calisto — for so he 
was named: Calisto des Sablees. 

He grew up a pleasing young fellow — gentle, 
loving, amiable, agreeable, and very pious. He 
went to Mass every day, and on Sundays he went 
to Vespers carrying his own prayer-book and the 
Count’s. 

Rather pale, rather delicate-looking, thin-lipped, 
with a pointed nose, he had so refined an air that 
the rough hearty peasants dubbed him in fun the 
Count’s pretty miss. He didn’t mind their fun, 
but smiled at it. He petted the children he met 
in the streets, and always had some goodies for 
them in his pockets. He was never seen in the 
tavern, and on Sundays he would go for a walk 
through the fields with the priest. Every year, in 


Calista bes Sablccs. 


23 


the autumn, he and Monsieur le Comte went to 
Paris to spend the winter in the Rue de Bretagne, 
not very far from the Rue des Douze Fortes. It 
was on one of these trips that Calisto made Surto’s 
acquaintance, for Surto often was taken to Paris 
by his Marquis. It was Surto who first took Calisto 
to the cabaret of the Galere d’ Avignon ; and later 
on, when they had become great friends, he told 
him all about himself and the Marquise, and how 
the Marquise, year aTter year, urged him to murder 
her Marquis because he was in the way. 

The day after the capture of the King’s Castle 
by the Marseillais (in which struggle Calisto had 
fought against the patriot battalions) Surto told 
Calisto how he had blown out the brains of his 
young master. Count Robert, and how he had 
delivered over the Marquis d’Ambrun to the sans- 
culottes. That day, at the Galere d’Avignon, they 
were rather more boozy than usual, and Surto let 
out to his dear friend Calisto that he hoped soon 
to get rid of the whole d’Ambrun family, down 
even to little Adeline, and so to become master of 
all the property of the Marquis. He already had 
secured the treasure chest, and he had all the 
family deeds and papers in his hands. Above all 
he possessed a deed, signed by the Marquise’s own 
hand, which recognized him as owner of the 
Castle at Malemort and of the houses in Avignon 
and in Paris. He showed these papers to his dear 
friend Calisto, for he always carried them well- 
secured about his person; and his dear friend 
Calisto felt envy and jealousy gnaw at his heart. 

When they came out of the cabaret Calisto was 
another man. Instead of stepping along gingerly 
as if he were walking with Monsieur le Cure and 
Monsieur le Vicaire, he strode carelessly on, not 
noticing if he put a foot into gutter or kennel. His 


24 


terror. 


mild eyes shone like the eyes of a wolf as he 
reached his masters house. 

He stopped in the hall to retie his cravat and to 
rub the mud off his shoes. He dusted his coat 
carefully. Then, his soft look and manner having 
come back to him, he went into Monsieur le 
Comte’s apartment. The old gentleman was 
growing uneasy at the prolonged absence of his 
dear Calisto. 

Calisto made a low bow. “Monsieur le 
Comte,” he said, “awful things are happening 
here, and if you do not fly the country you are 
lost.” 

“What do you mean, Calisto.^ I have never 
injured any one. I do not believe that I have a 
single enemy. You know that all I save, and 
even more, I give to the poor. Who could pos- 
sibly wish to do me harm ? ” 

“Your name is enough, monsieur. The sans- 
culottes are searching all the houses. Every noble, 
every priest, every rich merchant, is looked upon 
as a ‘ suspect ’ — is arrested, bound, and taken to 
prison. Surto, the gamekeeper of the Marquis 
d’Ambrun, was able to save his master’s property 
from being sold only by getting the Marquis before 
he went abroad to sign over to him all his property. 
Had he not taken this precaution, every thing would 
have been sold as biens d'emigr6. You can do as 
the Marquis d’Ambrun has done, if you think well 
of it. But, whatever you do about your property, 
be quick to save your life. Go, I beg of you. Go 
at once. ” 

Just then there came through the window the 
sound of distant drums. “Hark!” Calisto went 
on. “There go the drums! That means that the 
houses are to be raided. And now you can hear 
the sans-culottes shouting ! Quick ! Hurry ! 


(fraU6t0 hcs Sableea. 


25 


There is only one chance for you. Put on my 
dress — the dress of a servant — while I run to the 
post-house and hire horses. We will get away to 
the frontier. And while I am gone write out your 
orders for me. But hurry, hurry! There is barely 
time! ” 

The poor old Comte de la Vernede turned pale 
as ashes. He could not believe his ears. He 
obliged to fly ! It seemed impossible! But there 
was no time to think about it. His Calisto, his 
good, his faithful Calisto, assured him that it was 
true. There was nothing to do but to resign him- 
self to his kite. 

The Count wrote quickly a deed of sale by 
which he acknowledged his faithful Calisto des 
Sablees to be the owner of all his lands, goods, 
castles, and property of every sort. He dressed 
himself hurriedly in the livery that Calisto had laid 
out for him; and then, trembling with emotion, 
he collected some little trifles that recalled to him 
the most sacred memories of his family, filled his 
purse with money, and so waited for Calisto and 
the post-horses to come. 

As for Calisto, far from having gone after post- 
horses, he went after a band of sans-culottes, led 
them to the door of the Count’s house and said to 
them: In there you will find an anti-patriot, the 

ci-devant Comte de la Vernede, disguised as a serv- 
vant and all ready to start for the frontier. Arrest 
him, and put him in the Abbaye with the rest of 
them ! ” 

So the Comte de la Vernede was sent to the 
Abbaye prison. There, on the third of September, 
Surto murdered his master the Marquis d’Ambrun. 
And there, on that same day, Calisto thrust his 
knife three times through the throat of the kind 
old man who had taken care of him all his life and 


26 


terror. 


who had treated him almost as though he were 
his own child. 

A man who had just done a deed like that was 
monster enough to lend his claws to help Surto in 
anything. And so Surto counted upon his help to 
wring Adeline’s neck between his strong fingers 
as he would wring the neck of a poor little bird. 

‘•Where are you likely to find this Calisto ” 
asked La Jacarasse as she poured out another glass 
of brandy. 

“At the cabaret of the Galere d’ Avignon. 
After he had knifed his Count, Calisto told me he 
was going there to see if he could rid his eyes 
from the sight of the great streams of blood that 
spurted from his master’s mouth when he stuck 
the knife into his throat the first time. As to you, 
while 1 am away don’t let the Marquise see any- 
thing that is going on, and get ready your clothes 
and your hat. I’ll lend you a pistol, and you can 
take a pike along with you.” 

“Not a bit of that! No indeed! I’ll take my 
bag with me and my pig-killing knife.” 

“Have your own way. But be sure to be 
ready exactly at six o’clock.” 

Surto and La Jacarasse tip-toed down the 
stairs. 

Locked up in her room, where she had heard 
nothing, the Marquise was going on like a crazy 
, woman. At one moment she wept bitterly as she 
recognized the blackness of her sins; but the next 
moment she smiled as she thought of her splendid 
Surto, her manly powerful mate, who had con- 
quered her, who fascinated her, for whom she was 
ready to do all — all ! 


CHAPTER III. 


pascalet’s three crown pieces. 

Vauclair, having attended to his duties, and 
having given his orders at the barracks of the 
Cordeliers, came running back to Planchot’s for 
one more good-bye to his family and also to tell 
what news he had of little Pascalet. All the 
family were hard at work getting his and Pasca- 
let’s kits ready, for it never entered their heads 
that they had seen the last of their dear boy. 

Adeline was energetically stuffing all she could 
stuff into his bag. “See, Lazuli,” she said, “I’m 
putting in a big cake for him — the road is so 
long.” 

“ ril put one in for my Vauclair.” 

“Put in two, put in three,” said Planchofs 
wife, going in a hurry to her bread-box for more 
of them. 

“Te,” said old Planchot. “Here, put a flask 
of cordial wine in each bag. A good swallow of 
that keeps the road from getting too long.” 

“See, Lazuli, I’m going to put in this paper of 
almonds, all nicely cracked.” 

‘ ‘ What a good idea ! ” exclaimed Lazuli. “And 
I who never thought of cracking any for my Vau- 
clair! ” 

“Wait, wait,” called out old Planchot, trotting 
off to his work-bench, “I’ll crack ’em for you.” 
And with the head of his axe, which still showed 

27 


28 


S^lie terror. 


blood-stains on it, he cracked delicately a large 
heap of almonds that Lazuli stuffed into Vauclair’s 
overflowing bundle. 

“What on earth are you all about asked 
Vauclair, as he stood in the doorway. “How 
under the sun can 1 lug such a bundle as that! 
And as for Pascalet’s, it’s not worth while getting 
it ready.” 

“Isn’t he coming back Oh, what has hap- 
pened to him ? ” cried Adeline, turning very pale 
as her eyes filled with tears. 

“What are you saying.?” cried Lazuli, who 
felt her legs give way under her so that she fell 
back on the bench. 

“Don’t all of you carry on so,” Vauclair an- 
swered. “Nothing bad has happened. Yester- 
day Peloux and Margan of the Marseilles Battalion 
carried off Pascalet for a spree, and they took him 
into a dram-shop and made him drink more than 
was good for him. Then they lost sight of him. 
The little scamp must be sleeping off his drunk on 
some bench or other; and when he wakes up will 
come back here all right enough ; but by that 
time the Battalion will be off. I think the best 
thing is for you all to go back in the coach to- 
gether.” 

“You are quite sure that nothing has happened 
to him ?” Adeline asked anxiously. 

“Oh, yes, child, quite sure. What could 
happen to him, any way ? ” 

“ But there are so many bad people in Paris,” 
said Lazuli. 

“And suppose he met Surto.?” said Adeline, 
brushing away with her hand the tears that would 
come. 

“ Suppose he met Surto ? Well, what then ? ” 
said ’Vauclair, who hardly knew what answer to 


J)ascalefs Croton pieces. 


29 


make. “I don’t worry myself about that. Pas- 
calet has two good pistols stuck in his red sash, 
and I told him long ago that no matter when or 
how he met Surto he was to blow his brains out 
• — and 1 would see him safe through the job.” 

“All the same,” said Planchot’s wife, standing 
up straight with both hands full of cakes, “it was 
a very silly thing for those two Marseillais to make 
him drink in that way and then to lose him in the 
streets. That’s a kind of thing that never should 
be done.” 

“Just think of the little rascal,” sniggered old 
Planchot, coming forward with his apron full of 
cracked almonds. “Why, you’d say butter 
wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and yet he's been 
off cutting up in taverns! To be sure, he’s a 
mighty good boy; and young, very young. All 
the same, he’s got to have a good drubbing when 
he comes home.” 

“Oh, Planchot, and you Vauclair, please, 
please don’t scold him when he comes back,” 
begged Adeline. 

“ No, no,” said Lazuli. “ We won’t scold him 
when we get him back again. We’ll hug him 
hard. ” And just as she said this some one knocked 
at the street door. 

“ It is he! ” cried Adeline. 

“May be so,” said Vauclair, running down 
stairs followed by Planchot. 

The women crowded to the top of the stair- 
case to hear what Pascalet would have to say, but 
they were bitterly disappointed at hearing a strange 
voice when the door opened; the voice of a man 
whom Vauclair brought into the house, and whom 
Planchot recognized as one of his neighbours, a 
good patriot. 

“What good wind has blown you here, citi- 
3 


®l)e terror. 


30 / 


zeii ? ” asked Planchot as all three went up the 
stairs together. 

“I have a message for you and for the good 
people who are lodging with you, from a young 
patriot who is named Pascalet. The young fellow- 
who was here with you.” 

“He’ll tell us about Pascalet!” exclaimed all 
the women, and their hearts throbbed with fear of 
what might be coming. Poor Adeline felt her 
blood growing cold within her veins. Hardly had 
the man stepped over the threshold than all were 
at him at once. 

“Keep quiet now, all of you,” said the man, 
putting his hand in his pocket. “ 1 bring nothing 
but good news, and what’s always welcome, good 
money!” So saying he threw on the table the 
three white crowns that Pascalet had handed him 
that morning to give to Vauclair. 

“This morning,” said the man, “ at early dawn 
I was at the desks set up for the enlistment of the 
patriots who are to start at once for the frontier. 
It was right in front of what was the tyrant’s 
castle. Among other patriots a young fellow, a 
boy indeed, came up to enlist, and I asked him if 
I had not seen him here at Planchot’s, my neigh- 
bour’s. 

“ ‘Yes, indeed,’ said he, with a little gulp, and 
I saw in spite of his trying hard to hide it that there 
was a tear in the corner of his eye. ‘ Yes, indeed, 
you have seen me at Planchot’s; and will you 
please be so very kind as to take these three 
crowns to Vauclair who is in Planchot’s house, 
and please also let all the family know that I 
am enrolled as a volunteer in the Army of the 
Revolution, now that the country is in dan- 
ger.’” 

“ We shall not see him again,” cried Adeline. 


Pascakfs Proton pieces. 


31 


“Oh,’* said Lazuli, “I never could have be- 
lieved he would have left us in this way! ” 

“Oh, come now,” said Planchot’s wife. “ He’s 
a good boy. has sent you his three 

crowns.” 

“ He won't come back, he won’t come back! ” 
sobbed Adeline. 

Vauclair said nothing for a while, but stood 
turning things over in his mind. Then he spoke. 
“You are all wrong to look at it that way. Pas- 
calet is a Patriot, and he has done his duty. Had 
he come and told you he was going to leave for 
the frontier, perhaps you wouldn’t have let him do 
it; perhaps he wouldn’t have had the heart to 
leave you when he saw you all boo-hooing like 
waterspouts on a rainy day. He has acted like 
a man.” 

“Don’t you believe he wasn’t upset at leaving 
you,” said the man. “ 1 knew what the little tear 
meant, the tear he winked so hard to hide. It told 
the whole story. Poor boy, after he had gone a 
few steps, he turned back and said to me; ‘Bid 
them all good-bye for me, and tell them I’ll come 
back to them as soon as I have purged the land 
from the enemies of the Country and of the Revo- 
lution.’ ” 

“Faith, you’re just right there!” said Lazuli. 
“All the same, I would like to have given him a 
good hug before he got off. And his bundle here, 
just stuffed with good things! Adeline stuck 
cakes in it, and almonds all ready cracked! ” 

“No, no, it wasn’t nice of him,” sobbed Ade- 
line. “ He ought to have come back to say good- 
bye.” 

But the Patriot paid little attention to these 
lamentations, and said as he started down the 
stairs : ‘ ‘ Excuse my hurry, but every instant of 


32 


terror. 


my time belongs to the business of our holy Revo- 
lution. Good-bye.” 

As he was a near neighbour, Planchot merely 
shook hands with him at the head of the stairs and 
let him go down alone. The moment of painful 
silence that followed his departure was broken by 
Vauclair. Seeing that Adeline was trying hard to 
control herself, he led her gently to the table where 
Pascalet’s three crowns were lying and picked 
them up and shut them into her hand. “There, 
little one,” he said, “those are yours. You must 
keep Pascalet’s silver crowns. You will guard 
them safely, and give them to him again when 
he comes back from the wars.” 

“Well, now, Vauclair,” Lazuli struck in, “I’ll 
tell you what / think. You are quite right in giv- 
ing the white crowns to Adeline. That would 
please Pascalet I know very well. But it would 
please him still more if she were to buy a frock 
with them. Pecaire! You all know how our 
Adeline came to us, with nothing but her twenty 
nails. A pretty little frock bought with Pascalet’s 
sous, a little frock that would wrap her about, that 
she could see and touch for ever so long, a pretty 
little frock that I’ll find time to make for her my- 
self — that really would be best of all ! ” 

Adeline began to smile through her tears, as 
she thought how delightful it would be to wear a 
gown that came from Pascalet! However, what 
she said was: “But if 1 buy a frock, how can I 
give back the three crowns when my Pascalet 
comes home ? No, no. I’ll put them away safely. 
Ml take the best care of them, and give them back 
to him all safe when he comes.” 

“ Oh, just listen to that! ” cried Planchot’s wife, 
clasping her hands in delighted admiration. ‘ ‘ What 
a dear child she is, she would rather go without a 


|)ascalefs ®l)ree Croton ^pieces. 


33 


pretty frock and keep the crowns for Pascalet! 
Well, now, I am going to settle the whole affair 
in a way that will please every one. Planchot, 
here’s the key of the clothes-press, in it are the 
fifty crowns paid you for the guillotines — bring me 
three of them and they shall buy Adeline’s frock.” 

“You must not do that, you dear woman,” 
said Lazuli. “We can find three crowns some- 
where to buy a gown for Adeline. No, no, you 
mustn’t do it.” 

“Yes, yes, 1 say. 1 will do it just so. Adeline 
is a little bit my child too. Well, Planchot, what 
are you sticking there for like a willow-pole ? Go 
up to the clothes-press, 1 tell you, at once.” 

And Planchot’s wife, quite overcome by her 
feelings, caught hold of Adeline and almost smoth- 
ered her in a tight hug. “Oh,” said she in a 
broken voice, “why haven’t 1 a dear good little 
girl like this one.^ She would be the very light of 
our life. Dear child, dear little girl, won’t you 
stay with me and Planchot ? You will be the very 
apple of our eyes! ” And then, turning to Lazuli, 
she added: “Leave her with us. Do, do! She 
shall be our very own child! ” 

“No, no, no!” cried Lazuli and Vauclair to- 
gether, ‘ ‘ Adeline is ours. She is Clairef s sister. 
No one shall have the pearl of our house. See 
here, Clairet, you don’t want to give sister Adeline 
to Father Planchot, do you.^” 

To this Clairet made no answer in words, but 
he ran up to Adeline, and hugged and kissed her 
with all his might; and then tried to drag her away 
from Planchofs wife, as much as to say: “You 
sha’n’t have her! ” 

And Adeline, her eyes downcast, her head . 
drooping, her fingers on her lips, said nothing. 
Happy though she was to be so loved and so de- 


34 


®l)c terror. 


sired, she felt very sad as she thought that never 
might she see father or mother or brother again. 
But she had no desire to stay with the Planchots. 
Not that she had not a strong liking for the good 
wife, who was a kind, motherly woman ; but al- 
ways she seemed to see Planchot blood-stained 
and horrible: as she had seen him that day when 
he delivered up her father, the Marquis d'Ambrun, 
to his murderers. A shuddering thrill shook her 
from head to foot as he came back from the 
clothes-press smiling and chinking the three crowns 
in his rough hand. 

“There,” said he to his wife. “There they 
are; and if more’s needed, why more can be had.” 

Planchot’s wife got up and crossed the room 
to Adeline and put the three crowns in her little 
hand. And Adeline, at once touched and con- 
fused by the generosity of these good people, sat 
quite still, and without looking up said simply: “ I 
thank you!” 

This is a topsy-turvy world at times. Only a 
month earlier the Lord of La Garde, Adeline’s 
father, had been the owner of great estates, with 
the right of life and death over the human chattels 
dwelling on them; a lord paramount before whom, 
when he rode abroad, his people fell upon their 
knees. But the month had passed — and the lady 
his daughter would have been homeless and help- 
less, at the mercy of the wolf s jaws, had she not 
been harboured and protected by low-born folk 
to whom that Marquis of La Garde would have 
grudged even the straw with which he kennelled 
his dogs. And more than that, to cover her back 
with clothes she was glad to take alms from the 
very serf whom the Marquis had ordered to be 
whipped away from his fight for a cabbage-stalk 
with the pigs of the ChMeau. 


Pascalct's ^[)vce ^roujn pieces. 


35 


Too often over- wealth and over-abundance 
breed vice and close up the heart. It is on the 
tree of poverty that the dazzling flowers of liberty 
and equality and fraternity come to their brightest 
bloom. 

The hour struck. It was time for Vauclair to 
be off. It was hard for him to go without Pas- 
calet ; it was harder still for him to leave this poor 
Adeline, his boy Clairet, his beautiful young wife, 
in mid-revolution in that Paris overrun with ruffians. 
He was full of boding thoughts of danger to- his 
little brood. But his duty was plain. The Bat- 
talion was under orders to march, and he must 
march with it. 

Keeping his gloomy thoughts to himself, Vau- 
clair caught up Clairet in his arms and kissed him ; 
and the child’s arms were clasped so close around 
his neck that it was bitter hard for him to loosen 
them and set the little fellow down. Then, with 
a tender deference, he kissed the cheek of Adeline 
— who dared not return the kiss, but whose eyes 
brimming with grateful tears told all the thankful- 
ness of her heart and all the anguish of her soul. 
At the last he turned to his wife; and Lazuli, 
flinging herself into his arms which closed tight 
around her, cried out in keen lament: “You are 
going away, Vauclair! You are leaving us alone! 
I may never see you again ! ” 

“Hush, dear one!” Vauclair answered sooth- 
ingly. “ This is wild talk.” 

But Lazuli, clinging still closer to him and 
pressing her face against his breast, answered: 
“Evil surely is coming to us. Pascalet has left 
us. He has gone without a word. Somehow 
that frightens me. It makes me sure that there 
is still more evil to come! ” 


36 


®lie ®crr0r. 


Vauclair hesitated, and then spoke: “Lazuli, 
if you are frightened I will not go with the Bat- 
talion. 1 will wait and go back with you and 
the children. 1 will take you safely home.” 

But at this Lazuli drew herself quickly away 
from Vauclair’s arms, her tears stopped falling, she 
ceased her entreaties, and in a clear strong voice 
said: “No, no. A man must never break his 
word. Duty comes first of all. I was wrong to 
say what 1 did.” 

“Ah, that does me good. Lazuli,” said Vau- 
clair as he again took her in his arms. “ But I 
don’t want you to blame Pascalet, he too did his 
duty in going to drive strangers and enemies 
beyond the frontiers. Good-bye, good-bye all! 
Take care of them, Planchot, my old master. Go 
to the coach with them. I know that if you are 
along no harm can come to them.” And then 
turning to Planchot’s wife, he went on: “Thank 
you over and over again for all you have done for 
us. You must come and see us in Avignon, and 
we’ll have a grand time together. 1 never, never 
can repay all you have done for us — but 1 can tell 
you you’ll get it back in love and gratitude! ” 

So saying Vauclair swung his kit upon his 
shoulder, picked up his musket, and ran down 
stairs, the whole household close at his heels. He 
turned when he reached the outer threshold, and 
once more kissed his people all round; and then 
went off, calling back cheerfully: “We’ll soon 
see each other again. We’ll meet when the coach 
catches up to us, either at Lyons or at Valence.” 

“ God grant it! ” answered Lazuli. 

Then they all pressed forward through the 
doorway and stood together in a little group — but 
without speaking, because of the pain that was in 
their hearts — while Vauclair, lithe, erect, soldier- 


Pa0caict’3 (Jl)rec €roum pieces. 


37 


like, stepped out briskly without once looking 
back. But at the end of the alley he turned and 
waved his hand to them, while three kisses — one 
from Lazuli, one from Adeline, and one from 
Clairet — flew after the handsome sergeant as he 
was lost to sight in the Rue Saint-Antoine. 

After that, for a long moment, they all stood 
watching the end of the street where Vauclair had 
disappeared. And then, without a word, they 
went back into the house and up the stairs and 
into the kitchen; where the women, sobbing and 
crying, sank into the chairs. 

Planchot, though’ with some effort, contrived 
to keep his eyes dry. He walked back and forth, 
nervously trying to comfort them. He said to 
Clairet: “Don’t cry, little kid, I’ll take you to 
father at Avignon.” Then, touching Adeline’s 
shoulder: “Come, come, you’ve cried enough 
now. Look there on the table. There are Pasca- 
let’s three crowns. They are yours.” Then turn- 
ing to Lazuli, he said: “ Look here now, let’s down 
the pain by having something to eat, and then 
let’s all go to the Faubourg de Gloire and see the 
Marseilles Battalion go by! That certainly will 
please Vauclair.” 

These words brought a ray of sunshine that 
turned the sad tears to sparkling dew-drops on 
fresh flowers, as Lazuli and Adeline and Clairet 
looked up with smiles and answered all at 
once: “Planchot, Planchot, can we see him once 
more! ” 

“ For sure you can. The Battalion must pass 
in about two hours, and I’d like to know what’s to 
prevent our being there too 

“Quick ! quick !” exclaimed all. “A nubbin 
of bread, olives, almonds. That is supper enough 
for all of us. We must not miss the Battalion! ” 


38 


QL\^c Qlcxtox. 


And all of them, greatly heartened and com- 
forted by the thought of once more seeing Vauclair, 
hurried through their meal ; and so eager were they 
to be in time that they all were safely perched on 
the ruins of the Bastille at least an hour before the 
Battalion was due there on its homeward march. 

All around them were people crowding to see 
the Battalion go by ; to see the brave Federals of 
Marseilles whose good work was done and who 
were returning to their land of light and liberty. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DEPARTURE OF THE MARSEILLES BATTALION. 

More and more people thronged the streets. 
More and more people crowded the rains. There 
were groups of Gardes Nationales, arm in arm, 
singing the “ (Ja ira ” ; bands of sans-culottes dan- 
cing the Carmagnole ; some were coming, some 
were going. From time to time the rattle of 
drums would be heard. Now a group of dishev- 
elled women would drift by, perhaps with a 
ghastly head hoisted on a pike, presently to be 
lost and ingulfed in a side street or in a dram- 
shop. A detachment of horse-gendarmes went 
past escorting a tumbril full of Aristocrat prisoners 
on their way to execution. Carts full of dead 
bodies passed, sometimes, as they went jolting 
and jarring over the stones, letting fall a part of 
their load — when the crowd would fling itself 
on the poor corpse, kick it, drag it, tear it, until it 
was no longer human but only a gory something 
that those wild beasts dragged off to throw into 
some sewer hole or into the Seine. 

All of a sudden Adeline gave a scream and 
clung to Lazuli’s arm. She became pale as death 
and almost fainted. 

“What is it.^ what is it, child ?” Lazuli asked, 
drawing her close to her side. 

Planchot and his wife helped to hold her. 
“Don't be afraid, my little dear,” said Planchot, 

39 


40 


(tetrot. 


“here I am. Nothing can hurt you. What has 
frightened you 

“Oh dear ! Oh dear ! ’’ cried Planchot’s wife. 
“ If only it wasn’t so far away, Td go to the liouse 
for some orange flower waten” 

Clairet, who did not know what it was all 
about, clung to his mother’s petticoats ; and. 
frightened, lifted his voice on high. But no one 
paid any attention to him, so he howled still louder. 

Adeline continued staring always in the same 
direction and at last managed to say : “La Jaca- 
rasse’s bag ! La Jacarasse’s bag ! There ! There ! 
That National Guard, he has her horrible bag on 
his arm. It is certainly that dreadful Jacarasse’s 
bag. 1 can see the handle of her pig-killing knife 
sticking out of it. Oh protect me ! protect me ! ” 
And she clung the more tightly to Lazuli. 

Planchot stared in vain, trying to make out the 
dreadful bag in the surging crowd. Lazuli saw it 
at the first glance. 

“ That is so. It certainly is La Jacarasse’s bag. 
But what’s that to us ? Adeline, you must not be 
frightened for so little ! ” 

“Yes, I see it now. I see it,” said Planchot, 
standing on tip-toe. “It is carried by a pot-bellied 
fellow. He waddles like a bear. He is between 
two other National Guards.” 

“ I can’t see them.” said Planchofs wife. 

“ Te, there they are, all three of ’em, going into 
the sans-culotte dram-shop.” 

As they entered the dram-shop and disappeared, 
Adeline got the better of her fright ; and presently, 
when she heard the distant rattle of the drums 
steadily beating the Marseilles quickstep, she en- 
tirely forgot La Jacarasse and her bag. 

And then, when Captain Gamier, his head 
bound by a bloody napkin, appeared marching at 


®lie lOeparture of tl)e iHarseilles Battalion. 41 


the head of his Battalion, a tremendous shout arose 
— echoing and reverberating, and caught up again, 
again to echo and reverberate as does thunder in 
a mountain gorge. 

The Marseilles drums rattled sharp and clear, not 
hoarse and muffled like Paris drums ! A tall Mar- 
seillais marched along, holding on high the ban- 
ner with the Declaration of the Rights of Man. It 
was the same banner that poor Samat had held 
until all his veins were drained for his Country and 
for Liberty. After him followed the heroes of the 
South : a brave showing, but sadly lessened in 
numbers. Twenty men were dead and one hun- 
dred and eighty wounded and left behind. Flow- 
ers already were fed by the dead in their graves. 
The wounded were groaning on hard hospital 
beds. Only a few more than three hundred were 
marching back to their sunny land, bearing on 
their red caps the green laurel of victory. 

The ruins of the Bastille were covered with 
patriots, who greeted the Marseillais on their de- 
parture as warmly as they had greeted them on 
their arrival ; and when the Federals caught sight 
of the cheering crowd they with one voice struck 
up the strain : 

Aux armes, Citoyens ! 

Unlike the day of their arrival, this time thou- 
sands of Paris National Guards, a noble escort, 
were there, led by Santerre. The capon of yes- 
terday was the fiery cock of to-day. There, "too, 
were Danton and Barbaroux, heading the Jacobin 
Club. 

Presently the cannon and the forge came clank- 
ing on, and after them Vauclair with his fine red 
plume! Peloux, too — good old Peloux, who with 
Margan and Pascalet had fired the alarm-gun on 


42 


0ri)e terror. 


the Pont-neuf ! But no Pascalet was there ! Up 
on the ruins of the Bastille, Vauclair’s family stood 
on tip-toe to catch a glimpse of their handsome 
sergeant as he went by. Their eyes filled with 
tears as the applause and hand-clapping burst forth 
from the excited crowd. Planchot hoisted Clairet 
up on his shoulder that he should see his father. 
And then, almost in a moment, the Battalion had 
passed like a whirlwind and was far away. 

Lazuli and Clairet and Adeline kept their eyes 
fixed on a little red point that now could be seen, 
now was lost, as the Battalion itself was lost at 
times in the eddies of the crowd. That little red 
point that held their eyes fascinated was Vauclair s 
plume. At last it disappeared. Once more Clairet, 
from his outlook on Planchof s shoulder, shouted : 
“I see it ! I see it again ! ” And they all looked 
eagerly, but in vain — for the Battalion had turned 
the corner of the street and was gone, while on 
the wind was faintly borne back to them the sound 
of drums and the cry : 

Aux armes, citoyens, 

Formez vos bataillons ! 

Then Vauclair’s people and the Planchots looked 
sadly at each other, none of them daring to speak 
for fear of showing too plainly the pain that was in 
their hearts. Until Planchot, who wished to make 
things seem a little brighter, said cheerfully : 

“Children, if you all come home and shut your- 
selves up in the house you’ll all get to crying, and 
so we’ll have a dismal evening and a dismaller 
night — longer than a breadless day ! Just do what 
1 say : Go and buy Adeline’s frock. Get thread 
and needles and all you want for the making of it. 
Then this evening by lamplight, while 1 am work- 
ing at the little wheel-barrow 1 have promised to 


®l)c ?De)jartiTrc of tlie illarseilles Battalion. 43 


make for Clairet, you women will cut and baste 
our little girl’s pretty gown. All this will take our 
minds off our troubles, without making us really 
forget either Vauclair’s going or Pascalet’s playing 
truant and running away. It will brighten us up 
a little all round.” 

“ Planchot, my man, you are quite right,” said 
his wife, as she turned to Lazuli who was walking 
behind them with Adeline clinging to her arm and 
Clairet hanging to her petticoats. 

“Yes, we’ll go buy the frock,” said Lazuli. 
“ That will keep us busy as long as it is light, and 
it may help me to get rid of a queer feeling I have. 

I don’t know why I’m afraid, and 1 don’t know 
what I’m afraid of. But now that my Vauclair is 
gone it seems to me as if all sorts of troubles and 
misfortunes will rain down upon us. 1 shouldn’t 
be afraid if Pascalet were with us ; but it’s 
another thing to be all alone here, with these 
two innocents to look after — here in the wolf’s 
jaws! ” 

“ But don’t you count me as anything .^” said 
Planchot, whose feelings were a little hurt by 
Lazuli’s speech. “Am 1 a naught, a zero ? Don’t 
you know that with my axe I could stand off a 
whole battalion 

“ Don’t feel that way. Lazuli,” added Planchot’s 
wife. “No one wishes you evil; and besides, 
what could happen to you in our house ? ” 

“I know I’m all wrong,” answered Lazuli, 
“and it's the first time in all my life that 1 have 
looked on the dark side of things. But somehow 
I can't help it! ” 

While they were talking the little party had 
reached the Impasse Guemenee. Planchot and his 
wife stopped and said: “Well, we'll say neither 
good-bye nor good evening. Do your shopping. 


44 


®l)e terror. 


and then come back. We’ll leave the door on the 
latch so you need not knock, but can walk right 
up stairs. And be sure that you get the prettiest 
woolen stuff you can find.” 

“Surely, surely, the very prettiest — nothing 
can be too pretty for our Adeline,” said Lazuli, as 
she started with the two children down the Rue 
Saint-Antoine. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE THREE MURDERERS IN PLANCHOT’S HOUSE. 

The Planchots turned and went down the Im- 
passe toward their own home. The sun had sunk 
behind a great bank of clouds, and it was as if 
night suddenly had shut down without any soft 
twilight preceding its darkness. At the closed 
end of this blind alley it was very dark, for the 
only light came from the lantern dangling at its 
entrance up by the Rue Saint-Antoine. Sudden 
flashes of light started from the water in the gutter 
as the lantern swung back and forth. 

While Planchot was feeling for the keyhole his 
wife noticed in a far corner, where it was very 
dark, something that at first she took for a great 
heap of faggots; and then almost fancied to be 
three men crouching together there. But as noth- 
ing stirred she quickly dismissed her fancy, with- 
out saying anything about it to Planchot ; and 
when once she was in the house it passed quite 
out of her mind. 

As he had promised Lazuli, Planchot left the 
outer door on the latch. “There is no danger in 
leaving the door open,” his wife said. “In half 
an hour Lazuli and Adeline will be here.” 

“ I should like to see anyone who would dare 
come into my house! ” answered Planchot as they 
went up stairs. 

But as soon as the door was shut there was a 
4 45 


46 


terror. 


stir in the dark corner of the alley, and then what 
had seemed to be a faggot-heap resolved itself into 
three men. One of them stood up — a big lump of 
a fellow, tall enough to have opened one of the 
upper windows had he but raised his big hand. 
In a moment he said, speaking in a low voice: 
“Did you understand.^ The girl is not here 
yet.” 

“Yes, but she will be here in half an hour,” 
answered one of the others. 

“ We’ve only to wait till the rat runs into the 
rat-hole,” said the third. 

“ 1 can tell you this is no blind man’s catch. 
It is not as easy as you think,” said the man who 
was standing. “ It will be better to trap her in 
the street before trying to enter Planchot’s house. 
The joiner knows how to play with his ax. I saw 
him at work the day the Castle was taken! ” 

“ Then how shall we manage it F ” 

“ My plan,” said the third, rising and standing 
upright, “ would be to go into the house and grab 
Planchot and his wife; and if they yelled I’d stuff 
their mouths full of shavings to keep them quiet, 
and then tie them fast so they couldn’t run away. 
That would be easy enough. There are three of 
us to their two. Then we could wait here quietly 
for the woman and children. That’s a good enough 
way to do! ” 

This speaker was La Jacarasse — squeezed into 
her National Guard’s uniform, and with her pig- 
killing knife and bag ready as always to her hand. 

“ I agree with Surto,” said the second. “ We’d 
better catch her in the street.” 

This last was Calisto des Sablees — who, from 
the moment that Surto had spoken to him about 
the kidnapping project, had been working to turn 
the water on his own mill. Clever and keen- 


®l]rec iHurberera in piancl)ofs ^onse. 47 


sighted and possessing a rarely smooth tongue, he 
could have sold Surto and La Jacarasse twice over 
— and that was just what he meant to do! Ade- 
line was no stranger to him. He had seen her 
often when his master had taken him to the 
Chateau de la Garde. He knew that the Marquis 
d’Ambrun was dead, and that his son Count 
Robert also was dead, and that Mademoiselle 
Adeline therefore must be the heiress of the fine 
Chateau at Malemort and of the houses in Avignon 
and in Paris. In a flash he saw what he could 
do; and so, while consenting to help Surto, he 
shrewdly laid his own plans. 

It was Calisto who spoke again. “Yes, we’ll 
catch them out here. The best way to manage is 
for me to take my stand down there at the en- 
trance to the alley, while you two wait quietly 
here at the door. As soon as Lazuli and Adeline 
turn into the alley. I’ll come on after them, and 
you come forward to meet them. Then we'll 
have them between us and they can’t get away. 
The thing will be done in a flash, and Planchot 
will know nothing about it! ” 

“That’s good,” said Surto, “ only they’re likely 
to yell and wake up the whole neighbourhood.” 

“And my knife,” said La Jacarasse, “isn’t that 
good for anything ? The first one who squeals 
gets it stuck in her throat.” 

“All right, go ahead,” said Surto, who was 
pleased with this plan because he had no fancy for 
a meeting with Planchot’s axe. 

“All right it is then,” answered quickly Calisto 
— who feared a change in the programme that he 
carefully had arranged. “ I’ll take my post at the 
entrance of the alley, and you stay here and hold 
your tongues.” 

Surto and La jacarasse drew back into the dark 


48 


®l]e terror. 


corner as Calisto went off. They could see the 
whole length of the alley by the light of the lan- 
tern hanging at the entrance, its red flame burning 
whiter as the damp arose. They could see Calisto 
pass and repass as he paced up and down like a 
sentinel mounting guard before a prison door. 

Lazuli and the two children, making good use 
of their legs, had hurried from shop to shop to 
buy the stuff for the frock and the trimmings and 
buttons and linings. Some of the shops already 
were closed; for in those lawless times murderers 
and robbers were plentiful and prudent people 
were quick when night fell to bar their doors. 
Everywhere the thieves were taking advantage of 
the stir caused by the Revolution ; and all night 
long the fire bells were ringing. So many fires 
never were seen before, for the robbers after pil- 
laging some house would set fire to it and so 
cover their tracks. 

But in the end Lazuli and Adeline found just 
what they wanted, in a little shop in the Rue des 
Trois Pavillions. They bargained and bargained 
until they succeeded in getting a remnant of soft 
black stuff, woven delicately of the finest wool; 
and with this they also bought some pans of lace 
that was also black, for Adeline wished to wear 
mourning. The lace was very pretty, and into its 
pattern little fleurs-de-lys were intermixed so clev- 
erly that they hardly could be distinguished with- 
out one knew they were there. Lazuli did not 
notice them, or probably she would have had none 
of the lace. Adeline did notice them at the first 
glance; but she said nothing about them and sim- 
ply insisted that that was the lace which she 
would have. And it took the whole of Pascalef s 
three crowns to pay for the stuff and the lace and 
the other things which they bought. 


QLlie @:i)rce itturbeu'rs in piancliot's §omc. 49 


When they had finished their shopping they 
walked homeward rapidly, hand in hand — meet- 
ing people hurrying as they were hurrying, and 
passing close-locked doors. Paris did not seem 
like the Paris of a month before. No one would 
have known it for the same town. 

The darkness and the silence frightened the 
little group. Words were not needed, the close 
grasp of their hands was enough for them to 
understand each other. They were all over goose- 
flesh, and the more frightened they became the 
faster they walked. Lazuli felt that the two chil- 
dren were becoming terrified, and she herself be- 
gan to tremble. She could not help looking back 
to see if any one were following them. Soon she 
felt too frightened even to look back. Then she 
did as any one does who is badly frightened: not 
knowing how to whistle she began to sing — and 
she sang Saboly’s gay noel: 

Turo-luro-luro, 

Lou gau canto, 

and the children, to drown their fear, took up the 
refrain 

Turo-luro-luro. 

So, singing, they came to the Rue Saint-Antoine, 
and far off they could see the lantern that shone 
before the Impasse Guemenee. This light put 
some heart into them. They felt that Planchot 
was there and would take care of them if any one 
tried to hurt them. Nevertheless they kept on 
singing: 

Turo-luro-luro ! 

All of a sudden the three stopped short, for they 
saw uncertainly under the lantern a man with a 
gun on his shoulder and a sword at his side who 
seemed to be mounting guard. 


50 


®l)e Qicvxot, 


“I think I see some one off there,” said Lazuli. 

“ I see him,” said Adeline. “ I’m frightened.” 

“Mother!” cried Clairet, burying himself in 
his mother’s petticoats. “Mother! I'm afraid! 
I’m afraid ! ” 

“Hold your tongues! ” said Lazuli, who under- 
stood that before a real danger they must be brave. 
“Don’t be afraid. Maybe it is only Planchot wait- 
ing there for us.” 

“Oh, if it’s only Planchot,” said Adeline, a 
little reassured. 

But Lazuli saw very well that it was not 
Planchot. This man certainly had on a National 
Guard’s cap, and a sabre was slung across his 
shoulder. Planchot never would have dressed 
himself up in that style to come and meet them. 

They kept on their way slowly, their eyes 
fixed on the man who steadily marched up and 
down before the entrance to the Impasse. When 
they were within fifty paces of him he turned 
toward them. They saw him look at them sharp- 
ly for a moment. Then he came toward them 
quickly. 

Oh Holy Maries! Lazuli and Adeline felt the 
blood stop in their veins as he came onward. 
Nevertheless, they walked on slowly, their knees 
trembling beneath them. They saw as the man 
neared them that it certainly was not Planchot. 
They scarcely dared breathe as he held out his 
gun crosswise to bar their way and said in a low 
voice: “Halt!” 

“What do you want with us We are hon- 
est poor people,” Lazuli found voice to say. 

“ Stop at once and don’t speak! Not a word — 
or it is death to all three of you! ” 

“Good God! ” cried Adeline, pressing close to 
Lazuli. 


®:i)rce iHurbmrs in piancl)ot’s ^onse. 51 


“ I tell you to be silent! Not a word, or I will 
not answer for your lives! ” The man spoke in a 
very low voice. But in a still lower voice he con- 
tinued : “ I am speaking for your own good ; down 
there, at the bottom of the Impasse, Surto and La 
Jacarasse are waiting for you. Once in their claws, 
you are lost. You must fly. 1 am your friend. 
Don’t you recognize me. Mademoiselle? I am 
Calisto, who used to go with Monsieur le Comte 
de la Vernede to the Chateau de la Garde ? 

“ Believe me, you must not attempt to go back 
to Planchot’s. Go and wait for me in the ruins of 
the Bastille. In an hour at most I will meet you 
there, and will take you all three to my house. 
No one will know where you are. No one will 
dream of searching for you there. You will be 
safe.” 

“But what will the Planchots think?” asked 
Lazuli, pale as death. 

“ Don’t stop to talk,” said Calisto, eager to get 
them off. “I’ll tell them all about it. Cross the 
street, and go very quickly so that you will not be 
noticed from the bottom of the alley.” 

Then Calisto resumed his slow walk, as though 
he were mounting guard, and paused under the 
lantern again. 

Lazuli, Adeline and Clairet, their hearts in their 
mouths, shaking like reeds, crossed over to the 
other side of the street and passed lightly and 
quickly by the alley without even glancing at it — 
and then like three voiceless phantoms lost them- 
selves in the ruins of the Bastille. 

There, closely hugged together, their sobs 
broke forth; and helpless, dumb with terror, they 
waited — trusting to the grace of God ! 

Down at the end of the alley Surto and La Jaca- 
rasse also waited, but not for the grace of God. 


52 


®l)e ® error. 


They were getting numb, crouched uncomfortably 
in cramped positions. Their legs began to tingle 
as if ants were crawling over them. Suddenly La 
Jacarasse said: “Maybe Pascalet will come with 
them. Didn’t you notice he wasn’t with the Bat- 
talion 

“ I nearly put my eyes out trying to see if he 
was there, but I saw only Vauclair.” 

“It would be a piece of rare good luck to catch 
Pascalet too ! ” 

“Right you are. Then we would be safe 
against every thing for the rest of our lives.” 

“No,” answered La Jacarasse, “there’d still 
be some one to bother us — and even after we have 
got rid of your Marquise.” 

“ And who is that ? ” 

“Calisto. He knows all now.” 

“What can he do? He’s in with us. Didn’t 
he first give up his master, and then murder him ? 
And now he expects to rob him.” 

“ I wouldn’t trust him. I’d get rid of him too.” 

“He’s as slippery as an eel, that’s sure, and I 
don’t like his white-livered kind. But never mind, 
we’ll settle that some other time. ” Surto stretched 
out one leg. “Don’t you think they’re a devil of a 
while coming? I don’t know what to think of it 
all. I can’t understand a woman and two children 
staying out so late in these times.” 

La jacarasse also stretched her legs. “I don’t 
know what to make of it,” she answered. “ Per- 
haps we didn’t quite understand what the Plan- 
chots said.” 

“It would be a bad joke if we were waiting 
here for them while all the time they were behind 
that door! 1 thought the Planchots told them they 
would find the door open when they came back, 
didn’t you ? ” 


QL\)c QL[)vcc iHttrbcrers in piancl)ot’s 53 


While the two down below were getting tired 
of waiting for their prey, the two Planchots up 
above were getting very uneasy indeed. They 
reproached themselves for having let Lazuli and 
Adeline and Clairet go alone. Suppose something 
had happened to them ? So many bad people 
were around in these evil times! Planchot’s wife 
could not sit still. When she heard the clock 
strike up in the clock tower she stopped knitting 
her stocking, laid it on the table, lit the dark lan- 
tern and went down stairs; saying to Planchot as 
she descended: “1 am going to see if they are 
coming. I shall go up to the head of the alley.” 

“Do you want me to go with you?” asked 
Planchot, but without stopping planing the arm 
of the little wheelbarrow that he was making for 
Clairet. 

“Oh get out! No one will eat me! And, 
besides, I won’t go beyond the head of the 
alley.” 

So saying, Planchot’s wife went down stairs, 
gently raised the latch, and opened the street door. 
The bright light of her dark lantern threw a bril- 
liant ray on the opposite house. 

The old woman stuck her nose out of the door 
and looked toward the corner where she had no- 
ticed what looked like a heap of faggots or else 
like three crouching men; and now she saw that 
the heap was not so large. Without thinking 
what she was doing, she turned the light full on 
the dark corner — and there appeared Surto and La 
Jacarasse, their eyes flashing in the brilliant light, 
and all ready to spring on her! 

Planchot’s wife screamed and drew back into 
the doorway, pulling the door after her; but before 
she could turn the key Surto and La Jacarasse were 
on her, flinging her down in the shavings and 


54 


(terror. 


choking her as they cried; “Hold your tongue, 
you old slut — if you don’t want us to rip you up 
with our knives and swords!” Then the lantern 
fell on the bench and broke into fragments, leaving 
them in pitch darkness. 

But Planchot had heard his wife’s scream, and 
the strange noises in his workshop. He could not 
understand what it all meant, and ran down stairs 
in the dark as fast as his legs would carry him, 
calling out as he ran: “Whafs the matter.^ What’s 
the matter, wife ? Why did you call me ? What’s 
all the noise about? ‘Why don’t you answer? 
Why did you put out the lantern ? Have you 
fallen down stairs ? ” 

While he poured out these questions, to which 
no answer came, Planchot was groping his way 
down stairs in the dark. 

La Jacarasse throttled Planchot’s poor wife so 
that she could not answer a word. Surto went 
quietly to the foot of the staircase, and there he 
stood with out-spread arms — ready to seize Plan- 
chot as soon as he felt him, and by squeezing the 
breath out of him in his vice-like grasp to prevent 
him from arousing the neighbourhood with his 
cries. 

It all fell out just as Surto had hoped. Plan- 
chot stumbled and fell right into his arms; and as 
he squeezed Planchot almost to suffocation he 
growled in a low voice: “just you open your 
mouth, and I’ll squeeze the life out of you.” 

Planchot struggled hard, but his tickings and 
wrigglings were all in vain. Surto held him fast 
in his iron grip, close crushed against his breast. 
He tried to scream, but there wasn’t enough breath 
left in him. He did manage, though, to turn his 
head and to get his teeth into Surto’s cheek — and 
he bit hard! But Surto, angered by the pain of 


ilTurbetets in pittncl)ot’s §omc. 55 


the bite, caught Planchot by the throat with one 
hand and with the other hit him a stunning blow 
on the head that tumbled him over like a stone in 
among the shavings beside his wife — whom La 
Jacarasse, kneeling over her, held gripped fast be- 
tween her knees. 

Meanwhile, from the end of the alley Calisto 
had seen a part of what was going on. First he 
saw the flash of light, and then Surto and La Jaca- 
rasse as they fell upon Planchot’s wife. Wanting 
to help them, he ran down the alley as fast as he 
could. But as he crossed Planchot’s threshold he 
was surprised to find himself in darkness; and 
stopped short, not knowing which way to turn. 

“What is it all about? Where are you?” he 
cried. 

“ Here’s one who has had his hash settled for 
him ! ” said Surto, as he stood up. 

“ 1 can’t say as much for this one,” grunted La 
Jacarasse. “ 1 feel her wriggling.” 

“Whafs going on here, anyw^ay?” asked 
Calisto sharply. “Wait a minute — I’m going to 
get a light.” And as he spoke he ran up the stairs, 
unhooked the swinging lamp from its chain, and 
in another moment came down with it. 

Planchot, motionless, was lying full length on 
his shavings. His wife, lying beside him between 
La Jacarasse’s knees, no longer made any resistance. 

“No danger of their yawping now!” said 
Surto. “We can take our time to search the 
house, and so make sure the people we are after 
are not hidden somewhere in it.” 

“There is no one in the house,” breathed 
Planchot’ s wife in a voice faint as a sigh. 

“Oh, you old jade — I’ll do for you!” said La 
Jacarasse. And she put her hand into her bag to 
get out her knife. 


QL[)c QLcxrox, 


S6 


“Don’t stab her, you fool!” cried Surto, hold- 
ing back her hand. “ Don’t you see that she can 
tell us how to find Adeline for her mother; for 
her poor mother who has been crying for her ever 
since she lost her! ” As Surto said this he winked 
at La Jacarasse and Calisto. Then, addressing 
himself to Planchot’s wife, he continued: “See 
here, old woman, I’d like to know why you stole 
away that girl from her mother ? T ell me where you 
have hidden her away. You’ve got to give her 
up to us.” 

“I tell you,” hoarsely whispered Planchofs 
wife, “ I tell you she’s not in the house. We took 
her in only out of charity, that’s all.” 

“She’s not in the house! Where is she 
then ? ” 

By this time Planchot’s senses had come back 
to him and he heard what was going on; but he 
made no sign and lay as if dead, not daring to 
open his eyes. He let his wife do the talking. 

“If you don’t mean to harm her, if you really 
mean to take her back to her mother, that’s another 
matter. Wait a bit. She’ll come back presently 
with Lazuli, Vauclair’s wife. They went to buy a 
frock.” 

While speaking, Planchofs wife had raised 
herself on her elbow and was looking around ; and 
amazed she was to see herself there with three 
National Guards! All of a sudden she saw her 
Planchot half buried in the shavings stretched out 
as straight as a stick and looking like a corpse. 
And at this the poor woman gave a dreadful 
screech and fell back kicking and beating the air 
with her hands. Then she lay deathly still. 

“ And what now asked La Jacarasse. 

“ I think we had better search the house, be- 
fore the girl gets back,” Surto answered. 


®l)e ®l)ree iltitrberers in piancl)ofs ^onse. 57 


“Well, now that the main business is done," 
said Calisto, “ you don’t need me any more, do 
you? I’ll leave* you to finish your work alone." 

“All right," said La Jacarasse, who didn’t care 
to have him there when she got hold of Adeline. 
“Of course we can finish by ourselves. What do 
you think, Surto ? ” 

“ I think that three are better than two," Surto 
answered shortly. 

“Oh bah!" put in La Jacarasse. “You and I 
can manage a snivelling fifteen year old girl and a 
fat little partridge like Lazuli ! Go ’long, Calisto. 
Go about your business. While Surto’s searching 
the house. I’ll mount guard behind the door here. 
My ten nails are strong enough to manage the 
three of them when they come in. But I shall keep 
quiet and let them go upstairs, then, crick crack, 
111 lock the door and take out the key! And 
where will they be then ? We shall see ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE PALACE IN THE RUE DE BRETAGNE. 

Calisto already had his gun on his shoulder, 
and had started for the door. He knew who were 
waiting for him in the ruins of the Bastille — and 
he feared that the birds might be flown before 
he could get to them. The pretty gentle girl in 
hiding there meant so much to him ! She meant a 
future full of bright hopes; and the white wings 
of her innocence would hide the blood-spot that 
stained his brow. 

When Calisto reached the Place du Faubourg 
de Gloire, as it then was called, all was dark and 
still. He looked sharply about him, but saw no 
shadow move. Passing into the ruins of the Bas- 
tille, he stepped over the beams that had fallen to 
the ground, climbed the broken walls, and peered 
down the dark passage-ways — searching cautiously 
for those whom he hoped to find there. He did 
not dare to call out. The dread beset him that 
Surto had followed him and was close upon his 
heels. 

He walked on hesitatingly. A vague fear filled 
him at finding himself alone in those great ruins. 
The straggling beams seemed like arms flourished 
in the air threateningly. The corridors were as 
bottomless pits. Abysses seemed to yawn at 
every step. Above him hung broken floors and 
fragments of winding stairs, clinging as by a 
58 


Qri)e palace in Ilje Hue be Bretagne. 59 


miracle to their supports, which seemed ready at 
any moment to come crashing down upon him. 
The broken masses of masonry, the charred beams 
standing upright, looked like men crouching in 
wait for him or ghosts half hidden in the gloom. 
His blood ran cold. With a shiver he retraced his 
steps until he was clear of the ruins; and then, 
very slowly, walked around them — looking keenly 
into their recesses and coughing gently from time 
to time. 

He had gone but a few steps when he fancied 
that he heard a sob. Guided by the sound, he 
made his way quickly toward the dark corner 
whence it came — and there saw faintly the three 
for whom he was searching, crying bitterly and 
clasped closely in each other’s arms. 

*‘ls it you.^” he asked in a low voice. No 
one answered; but Lazuli, separating herself from 
the two children, stepped a little forward and 
looked hard at him to make sure that this truly 
was the stranger who had promised to come for 
them there. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It is 1, Calisto. 
1 am your friend. 1 have snatched you from be- 
neath the feet of death. Come with me if you 
wish to live. Surto and La Jacarasse still are close 
by. They are searching for you in the joiner’s 
house.” 

On hearing the names of Surto and La Jacarasse 
Adeline rose up and threw herself into Lazuli’s 
arms. Little Clairet hid his head again in his 
mother’s skirts. Then Lazuli spoke. 

“1 believe you are an honest man,” she said, 
“for you wish to deliver us from those two mon- 
sters who have vowed the death of this young 
girl. All the same, remember that should you 
deceive us there is some one who will avenge our 


6o 


(El)e S^error. 


death. But I believe in you. Go you ahead and 
we will follow wherever you lead.” 

“Fear nothing. While you are with me no 
one can hurt you. Mademoiselle Adeline knows 
who 1 am. She knows that I was the faithful 
servant of my poor master. She has seen me 
often at the Chateau de la Garde. You remember 
me well, Mademoiselle, do you not ? Four years 
ago, in harvest time, 1 was with Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernede when he was paying a visit 
at La Garde. It was 1 who climbed up the wal- 
nut tree in your garden to catch a cigale for you.” 

As he spoke, the murderer of the Comte de la 
Vernede came up close to the little group, and in 
the darkness his hand tried to find th’e hand of 
Adeline. But Adeline shrank closer and closer to 
Lazuli, and when he clasped her hand and pressed 
it she felt fresh shudders of fear run through her. 

Without more words they came out from the 
ruins together, and the three followed hesitatingly 
in Calisto’s wake. Leaving the Place du Faubourg 
de Gloire, they turned to the left and took the 
street of the Pas de la Mule, then turned to the 
right into the large street of Saint Louis, then 
again to the left to the Rue de Bretagne ; and 
about the middle of this street they stopped before 
what seemed to be a deserted house the windows 
of which were shut and barred. 

For a moment there was a pause on the thresh- 
old, while Calisto took a key from his pocket 
and opened the door; and then they all went into 
a large entrance hall paved with marble, at the 
farther end of which was a broad stairway lighted 
by a lantern in the shape of a church with towers 
and steeples and windows filled with stained 
glass. From the lantern came a soft ruddy light 
which cast red gleams on the gilded mouldings of 


91^1)0 JJalate in tl)e Hue be Bretagne. 6i 


the walls and on the gilded balusters. But the 
porters room was empty and dark, and about the 
stair foot there was no group of valets and lackeys 
— the fit attendants in a palace such as this. 

Calisto called up from the foot of the stairway: 
“Joy! Joy!- 

In a moment a pleasant faced old woman ap- 
peared at the stairhead, who called down in a 
pleasant voice: “ Is that you. Monsieur Calisto ?” 

Joy was the old cook. In her childhood this 
blithe name had been given her because of her 
blithe nature; and it still was given her, and she 
still deserved it, although she was more than sev- 
enty years old. For fifty of those years she had 
been a good and faithful servant in the Count’s 
family. It was one of the proofs of her devotion 
to her master, and also of her kindliness, that she 
always addressed Calisto as “Monsieur”; for the 
Count had treated Calisto the foundling not as a 
menial but as his adopted child. 

“Yes, joy. Here 1 am,” Calisto answered. 
“Take care of these visitors while 1 go and change 
my clothes. Take them into the salon. 1 will be 
there in a moment.” And then turning to Lazuli 
and Adeline he continued: “Fear no ill. This is 
the house of peace. Here you will want for noth- 
ing, and no one will do you harm. 1 must leave 
you while 1 take off these vile clothes. I wear 
them only that 1 may be safe from the sans-cu- 
lottes — the murderers and robbers who think that 
because 1 wear their uniform 1 am one of them- 
selves.” 

“Good Heavens! ” cried Lazuli as she stepped 
forward to go upstairs. “Must we then spend 
the night here ? What will the Planchots think 
if they do not see us come home 

“Don’t trouble yourselves about the Planchots. 

5 


62 


QL\)c terror. 


I will attend to them,” Calisto answered as he 
went into a little dark room beneath the stair. 

As they ascended the stairway it was curious 
to observe the sudden yet unconscious change 
that came over Adeline. Inwardly she still was 
the same simple and gentle-natured young girl. 
But outwardly, by instinct, she was again the 
high-bred young gentlewoman moving in the 
world to which she belonged. She^gave to Lazuli 
the package to carry containing the frock, and 
dropped her arm on which she had been leaning 
heavily. With upraised head she stepped lightly 
forward and without touching the railing walked 
gracefully up the stair. Lazuli, leading Clairet, 
followed two or three steps behind her ; but 
Lazuli’s movements were clumsy and heavy in 
comparison with Adeline’s gliding grace. 

On the upper landing Joy stood in waiting. 
The old woman made three deep courtesies and 
said respectfully: “lam your servant, Mademoi- 
selle la Comtessine Adeline.” 

Adeline bent her head slightly but did not 
speak, and Joy continued: “1 had the honour to 
wait on Mademoiselle when she came to the 
Chateau de la Vernede with Monsieur le Marquis 
d’Ambrun and Madame la Marquise Adelaide.” 

The sound of these two names brought all her 
troubles back to Adeline’s memory, and turning 
suddenly she caught hold of Lazuli’s arm. “ Yes, 
1 remember,” she said. “In those days, Joy, I 
did not know what suffering meant! ” 

“Will Mademoiselle la Comtessine please to 
enter said Joy, making another deep courtesy as 
she flung open the door of a great salon. 

Walking noiselessly on soft carpets such as 
neither Lazuli nor Clairet had ever seen, they 
entered the room; while Adeline, confused and 


®l)e JJalace in tlie Hue be Bretagne. 63 


blushing, at first tried to take the bundle from 
Lazuli and then handed her a chair. It was in 
vain that Joy hurried forward to prevent her from 
performing this little service. 

“Oh, let me do it, joy! let me do it! ” she cried. 
“ I must learn my proper place in the world. For 
more than a month this good kind woman has fed 
me with her bread. What do you think of that! 
I, the daughter of the Marquis d’Ambrun, am eat- 
ing the bread of charity. But it is wrong to com- 
plain. That bread is good ! That bread I thought 
so bitter is as sweet as she who gives it to me! 
Oh Lazuli, Lazuli, I have but you to lean on in all 
the world!” And bursting into tears the young 
girl threw herself into Lazuli’s arms. 

Little Clairet had begun to play with some 
pretty trifles that he had found upon one of the 
tables, but when he saw his mother embracing 
and kissing Adeline he left his toys and ran to her 
— sobbing bitterly, though he knew not why. All 
that he understood was that trouble was near 
them ; and perhaps he was impelled by that strange 
jealousy common to children that makes them 
feel all mother kisses are lost which are not their 
own. 

“But, good people,” exclaimed joy, emphasiz- 
ing her words by raising her arms up above her 
head, “whafs happened to set you crying this 
way ? Monsieur Calisto will do anything you 
wish done. Come, Mademoiselle la Comtessine, 
don’t put yourself into a fever this way. What 
would you say if you’d seen your father the Mar- 
quis dragged off by a band of sans-culottes — as I 
saw Monsieur le Comte de la Vernede dragged 
away, poor gentleman! Monsieur Calisto had 
just gone out to get a horse to carry him safely to 
the frontier when those horrible people came in 


64 


terror. 


just like wolves. They tied him up as though he 
were a robber. They took him away God knows 
where! Since then our poor Calisto has had 
neither peace nor rest. Every day he dresses him- 
self like the brigands who carried off our Count 
and goes around everywhere searching for him. 
He’s promised me he’ll find our dear master, and 
bring him back to us. And he'll do what he says! 
His heart’s just bleeding! He hardly eats or 
drinks. His whole time is given to trying to find 
our master. You, at any rate, have had no such 
trial. You have your father, you have your mother 
to take care of you, to help you in danger; 1 don’t 
know what you mean when you say you must 
learn your proper place in the world and that you 
are eating the bread of charity ! ” 

“Ah, my good Joy, my trouble is greater than 
yours. My father the Marquis was delivered over 
to the sans-culottes by that wicked Surto, his own 
gamekeeper. My brother Robert is dead, shot in 
the King’s Castle — and it was Surto who killed 
him. My mother, oh my mother — no one will 
tell me anything about her. 1 do not know where 
she has been, nor where she is, nor why she hides 
herself She has gone, and has totally forgotten 
her daughter Adeline! I, the Comtessine d’Am- 
brun, am no better than a foundling, a charity 
child. Only my eyes are left to me — that I may 
weep! ” 

“No! no!” cried Lazuli, “lam left to you — 
and I will always care for you as though you were 
my very own. Never will I desert you!” And 
again she opened her arms and clasped Adeline 
closely to her heart. 

“Come, come!” said the good Joy, who al- 
ways saw the best side of everything. “ Believe 
me, Mademoiselle la Comtessine, you’ll find your 


Qri)c J)alace in tl)c Hue be Bretagne. 65 


father, and your mother too. I’ll tell Monsieur 
Calisto to look for Monsieur le Marquis d’Ambrun. 
He’ll find him when he finds Monsieur le Comte; 
and then, too, you should remember that it may 
be better if he does not find them right away. 
Dreadful things are happening, and I’ve been told 
that noble gentlemen and rich people are really less 
in danger of murderers in the prisons than they are 
in their own homes.” 

While Joy thus was trying to console Adeline 
with her kindly talk — in which there was less of wis- 
dom than simplicity — the door opened and Calisto 
came into the room. Lazuli, who still held Ade- 
line in her arms, did not recognize him. The Na- 
tional Guard with whom they had come to the 
house was a frightful object, bloody and powder- 
grimed and wearing on his hat a flaunting red 
plume. His bare calves had been mud-stained. 
His feet had been shod with rough hob-nailed 
shoes. By his side had been a long sword that 
had dragged on the stones with a heart-freezing 
clank. 

But that revolting monster had disappeared, 
and in his place was a young dandified fellow, 
newly shaved and curled and pomatumed. His 
neat white stockings were upheld by ribbon gar- 
ters. His silken clothing rustled softly as he came 
forward and made, according to the custom of the 
day, three profound bows to the little Comtessine. 
This politeness, however, was lost upon the per- 
son for whom it was intended. Adeline’s head 
was buried in Lazuli’s bosom and she never saw 
his obeisances. 

“Mademoiselle la Comtessine d’Ambrun,” he 
said, “ I lay my homage at your feet. Calisto des 
Sablees is your servant.” Even the voice was 
changed. The sans-culotte had spoken roughly 


66 


Vertov. 


and hoarsely. This young dandy’s voice was 
low and soft, and his words were uttered in the 
clipped precise tones affected by the Aristocrats of 
the day. 

As the Comtessine heard Calisto’s words, she 
raised her head from Lazuli’s shoulder and looked 
in astonishment at this person of gentle condition, 
such as she had not seen for many a long day. 
She made an effort, dropped Lazuli’s arm and re- 
sumed the air of a stately young dame. “ 1 have 
but one service to ask of you,” she said. “Tell 
me where are my father the Marquis and my 
mother the Marquise.” 

“Ah, if 1 but knew. Mademoiselle, 1 would tell 
you gladly. More than that, to please you, I 
would start at once to bring them to you, though 
at the peril of my life.” 

“But, if you do not know where my people 
are, you must let me go with Lazuli. She now is 
my mother, and it is with her that I wish to be. 
Surely you will help us to take the Avignon coach, 
you will help us to escape from those who seek to 
harm us — from Surto and from that horrible La 
Jacarasse.” 

“1 will do all that you desire, Mademoiselle. 
Again I vow to you that I am your servant until 
death. If it please you to make your home in this 
house, regard it as your own. But at least be 
content to remain here for a little while. You 
would but fling yourself into the wolfs jaws 
should you return to Planchot’s now. Surto and 
La Jacarasse went to Planchofs this evening to 
capture you. Fortunately I knew of their inten- 
tion in good time. Heaven granted that 1 found 
you outside, while the monsters were inside 
searching for you. Assuredly they will go back 
there to-morrow and the next day; they will have 


0 ^lic palace in tlie Bue be Bretagne. 67 


no rest nor peace until they have given you up to 
the sans-culottes as they did your father.” 

“ And my mother Did they also deliver her 
up ? ” 

“ 1 cannot tell you positively. All that I know 
is that she no longer is in your house in the Rue 
des Douze Fortes. 1 know that Surto and La 
Jacarasse do not live in that house, though they 
have the keys of it. 1 know, too, that not only 
have they the keys, but that they have all your 
family papers and all your treasure. 1 know that 
they say that you alpne, in time to come, can 
make them give up the property of which they 
have robbed your family. Now you know why 
they search for you, and why they wish to cause 
your death.” 

“Heaven help me!” cried Adeline, clasping 
her hands together. “Would that my brother 
Robert were alive to protect me 1 Oh, if Pascalet 
only were here ! ” 

“Your brother Robert.^ It was Surto who 
killed him!” cried Calisto. And then, speaking 
gently and soothingly, he added: “ But you need 
rest, Mademoiselle. Let us talk no more of these 
dreadful matters now.” 

“My Adeline,” said Lazuli, putting her arms 
around her, “ listen to me. Though your father 
is lost to you, though your brother is dead, though 
our Pascalet has gone away, we still have my 
Vauclair — the best and bravest of men! He will 
take care of you. He is as good as bread, my 
Vauclair, and he never will abandon you.” 

“And 1 swear to you on the head of our poor 
Count, my benefactor,” said Calisto, “that if need 
be 1 will give my life to serve you. Believe me, I 
will find your father and your mother for you; 
believe me, 1 will take you back to your family 


68 


^cxxox. 


when the tempest of the Revolution shall be past. 
And now, once more, 1 implore you to stay in this 
house until the day when the coach leaves for 
Avignon. Then, if you wish it, 1 will accompany 
you on your journey. If you would have a safe 
shelter, I will give it to you in the Chateau de la 
Vernede; for you must know that my dear master. 
Monsieur le Comte, seeking to safeguard his prop- 
erty against his own return, or to provide for me 
most generously should he perish — which God 
forbid ! — in this wild storm of terror, has signed a 
paper conveying to me the whole of his estates. 
I tell you this because 1 want you to know that 1 
have a right to offer you the shelter of the Chateau. 
But it is a matter about which we can talk later. 
Now 1 shall leave you to the rest that you so much 
need.” And with this Calisto went to the door and 
called toward the kitchen for Joy. 

This good woman had left the room some 
minutes before, and when she came back in 
answer to Calisto’s call she carried a tray on which 
were three steaming bowls of tilleul tea. 

“Ah, that is a good thought,” said Calisto. 
“When you have drunk your tea. Mademoiselle, 
Joy will show you to your room.” And then, 
turning to Joy, he added: “You will conduct 
Mademoiselle la Comtessine to the large state-bed- 
chamber, and you will put Mise Lazuli and her 
child in the room overhead. To-morrow we will 
meet again. Mademoiselle, 1 trust that you will 
sleep well.” 

But Adeline was not at all satisfied with this 
arrangement. “No, no!” she cried, “1 cannot 
be separated from Lazuli. 1 would rather go with 
her to the smaller room. You must not leave me. 
Lazuli.” And she caught fast hold of Lazuli’s 
arm. 


Jpalacc in tl)e Ene be Bretagne. 69 


“ Your will is law, Mademoiselle,” said Calisto 
with a low bow. “ It shall be as you desire. Joy, 
you will make up another bed in the state chamber 
for Mise Lazuli.” And then Monsieur Calisto 
elegantly backed out of the room, making three 
courtly bows. 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” exclaimed Joy. “ You’re not 
crying again! Don’t go on like that. All will 
come right, never fear. Surely you will find 
Monsieur le Marquis. Madame la Marquise will 
come safe home again. All of you together will 
go back to the Chateau de la Garde, and then you 
all will come gaily to pay us a visit at La Vernede. 
Come, drink this — it would bring a dead man back 
to life, and yet it will rest your nerves. Sleep well, 
and to-morrow you’ll all be as stirring as partridges. 
Take the cup, Mise Lazuli, Mademoiselle will like 
it better from your hands. Come here, you little 
darling, and drink this. Aha, you bunch of mis- 
chief, you know it’s nice, don’t you ? There’s lots 
of sugar in it, three big lumps. Te, Te, don’t 
burn your mouth. Blow it well. There, that’s 
right. Now hold it steadily and don’t spill it on 
my carpet. Now, Mademoiselle la Comtessine, 
take down your tilleui like this dear little fellow — 
who is just as good as gold. Aren’t you as good 
as gold, my pet ? What is your name ? Whom 
do you belong to ? ” 

“ To my mother! ” 

‘‘ And your name ? ” 

“ Clairet.” 

“ And your father’s name ? ” 

“ His name is papa.” 

“Well, if you haven’t drunk up the whole 
bowlful! Now that is being a good boy! To- 
morrow ril take you to see our good King looking 
out of the window of his tower.” 


70 


®I)e (terror. 


“Yes, but you ought to take Pascalet too. 
Pascalet will shoot him.” 

“Holy Virgin! Why do you want to shoot 
our good King ? ” 

“ / don’t want to shoot him. It's Pascalet and 
papa. They were saying so the other day at 
home.” 

“ Hold your tongue, chatterbox, you don’t 
know what you are’ talking about,” cried Lazuli as 
she drew him close to her. But little Clairet, who 
saw how he was shocking old Joy, went on: 

“ And Planchot too. He wanted to shoot at 
old Capet.” 

“Don’t notice what he says,” said Lazuli. 
“ He’s nothing but a baby. Don’t be angry at 
him.” 

“ 1, angry ? It would be the first time in my 
life! joy 1 was born, and Joy I will die! But 
you, my pet, you won't shoot my good King, any 
way. Will you 

“ Oh no. I’m too little to shoot the King.” 

“ You’re a fine boy. To-morrow I’ll buy you 
a sugar cock. Shall I buy one for Mademoiselle 
Adeline also ? ” 

“ Yes, please. And one for Pascalet too.” 

“ Who is this Pascalet you all talk about so 
much 

“ He is our dear friend, my good Joy,” Adeline 
answered. “I cannot tell you how faithful and 
how good he is. Had he but remained with us 
all would have gone well. Yet he is only the son 
of one of our peasants — who lives in a wretched 
little hut on the hillside up behind our Chateau. 
He was forced to run away from Malemort because 
our game-keeper, Surto, wanted to kill him: the 
same Surto who now wants to kill me — who 
already has killed my brother Robert. He ran 


0 ^l)e palace in tlie Uxtc be Bretagne. 71 


away to Avignon ; and there, when the Marseilles 
Battalion came marching through on its way to 
Paris, he was enrolled as a Federal. Our kind 
Vauclair — this good Lazuli’s husband, and little 
Clairet’s father — also is of the Battalion, and so he 
became Pascalet’s friend. And when Pascalet had 
done his duty — 1 mean,” Adeline went on in some 
confusion, “ when the King’s Castle had been 
taken, our brave Pascalet left us with the army 
that has gone to the frontier to protect our country 
against traitors and strangers. And our good 
Vauclair also has left us. He has gone back with 
the Patriot Battalion to Marseilles.” 

Joy listened to all this in astonishment, and at 
the end of it fairly threw up her hands. “ O Made- 
moiselle la Comtessine,” she cried, '‘can it really 
be you who speaks in this way of the brigands 
from Marseilles.^ I must be dreaming! I can’t 
believe my ears! Surely your father the Marquis, 
kindly though he may have been, never would 
have suffered you to talk like this. What if he 
should hear you ? But God grant that he never 
may! And you, Mise Lazuli — what do you say to 
this wild talk ? ” 

“It is the way I talk myself, Mise Joy,” Lazuli 
answered stoutly. “And if you only knew how 
things were going now-a-days it is the way that 
you would talk too. But we needn’t bother about 
all that now. These children are tired almost to 
death, and by your leave I'll take them to their 
room and put them to bed. And after that it is 
my duty to go and see what has happened to our 
friends the Planchots. They are friends who have 
been faithful to us, and I must be faithful to them. 
Surto and La Jacarasse may do their worst. I’m 
not afraid of them. My duty is clear, and I’ve got 
to go.” 


72 


®l)e S^error. 


“But surely, Lazuli," Adeline cried entreat- 
ingly, “you will not leave me? I’m afraid to be 
left alone.” 

“ And I’m afraid too,” said Clairet, plunging his 
head into his mother’s petticoats. “Yousha’n’t 
go!” 

“Children, I leave you with Mise Joy. She is 
a dear kind woman and will take good care of you. 
1 shall be gone, you know, for only one hour. It 
won’t take more than that to go and come.” 

“ Assuredly these children will be safe with me,” 
Joy put in warmly. “And, besides. Monsieur Ca- 
listo is here in the house with his gun and his pistols 
and his sword. And he has also,” Joy went on in 
a lower voice, “a great knife that he bought only 
yesterday. A long, sharp, dreadful knife, that he 
brought home under his coat as though he did not 
want me to know about it. What he means to 
do with it I’m sure I can’t tell. But 1 know 
where he has hidden it, and I’ll get it and show it 
to you when 1 go up stairs. Oh yes, with Mon- 
sieur Calisto in the house, and all these arms at 
hand, you surely are safe enough here. 

“But all the same,” she went on, turning to 
Lazuli, “ if I were you I would not venture out 
to-night alone. Of course I have no right to advise 
you. But every day Monsieur Calisto says to me, 
‘Take care, Joy. In Paris now the streets after 
sunset are full of murderers fit only for the hang- 
man ! ’ And so 1 never go out at night at all. 
Even Monsieur Calisto himself comes home early 
and does not go out again after dark. Last night, 
to be sure, he never came home at all. But then 
he was searching for Monsieur le Comte, our dear 
master. That was another matter. Our good 
Calisto willingly would risk his life to save our 
dear master who was so good to him.” 


palace in tl)e Bne be Bretagne. 73 


“But what harm possibly could happen to 
me?” asked Lazuli. “I don’t know a soul in 
Paris. I have no enemies. No one wishes to 
hurt me. I can go anywhere. And for me to 
desert the good Planchots in this way is to play 
the coward. My duty is plain before me. I 
must go.” 

“Well, if you will go,” said Adeline resolutely, 
“ I will go with you. Perhaps no harm will come 
even though we meet Surto. He may tell me 
where my father and mother will be found.” 

“And I,” piped up Clairet, “will go along 
with mama.” 

“There, Mise Lazuli,” said Joy smilingly. 
“That settles it. You cannot take them with 
you, and you must give up your visit for to-night. 
As soon as it is daylight I will call you, and we’ll 
all go to the Planchots together. They seem to be 
good souls from what you say about them — and 
then they come from our own dear South, and we 
all can have together a dish of real home talk. 
And now come to bed. I’ll show you the way, 
and you all three can sleep in the same room.” 

Lazuli had to give in. joy’s reasons for stay- 
ing indoors were good ones; but what made La- 
zuli the more ready to yield to them was the cer- 
tainty that if she went Adeline would go too. 
That was not to be thought of. Yet Lazuli knew 
that no amount of argument would make Adeline 
swerve from her purpose; for the little Countess, 
for all her gentleness, had a will of -her own. 

Seeing that the matter was settled, Joy led the 
way to the end of the salon and opened a door upon 
which a mirror ingeniously was framed — and 
through the doorway ushered them into a beauti- 
ful chamber hung with curtains and lace, and car- 
peted with fur rugs into which their feet sank 


74 


(terror. 


softly and without a sound. Two beds were in 
the alcoves, so daintily elegant that at sight of 
them Lazuli gave a little gasp. But Adeline did not 
notice them. They were what she had been ac- 
customed to all her life in the Chateau de la Garde. 

Having done the honours of the apartment, 
Joy said good night and was leaving them when 
little Clairet ran after her and caught her by the 
skirt. “ But you promised to show me Monsieur 
Calisto's big knife!” he cried. 

“You little mischief, how well you remember! 
1 had forgotten all about it. Yes, yes, you shall 
see it — only you mustn’t let it frighten you. But 
wait, 1 have forgotten something else,” she added 
— and with the candle she lighted a lamp that 
hung from a gilded chain before a silver statuette 
of the Virgin in a corner of the room. “Here is 
the Good Mother,” she said, “who will watch 
over you and protect you. Every evening Mon- 
sieur Calisto prays for an hour before her for the 
safety of Monsieur le Comte. Now I’ll run off 
and get the knife that the little darling wants to 
see.” And the good joy bustled out of the room. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE TESTIMONY OF THE KNIFE. 

Being left alone, Adeline and Lazuli fell into 
each other’s arms and took comfortably to crying 
again ; and then, presently, knelt down before the 
Good Mother and together prayed. Monsieur 
Clairet, being thus left to his own devices, went 
ferretting around the room — and was delighted by 
the discovery of a pretty little white silk flag on 
which were embroidered golden fleurs-de-lys. It 
was a famous find for him. Holding it gallantly 
over his shoulder he went marching around the 
room M'ith it — pretending that he was a soldier of 
the brave Battalion of Marseilles. 

Lazuli’s heart was full to overflowing, and she 
prayed aloud: 

Dear Christ, if it pleaseth thee, 

Safeguard my rest. 

Let angels watch over me — 

Four of thy blest. 

Two at the feet of me, 

Close by my bed, 

Other two shining ones 
Over my head. 

Thy Mother has said to me: 

“ Fear not, and sleep — 

My love is enfolding thee. 

Tender and deep.” 


75 


76 


®l)e terror. 


Jesus, my blessed Lord! 

Mary of Grace! 

Watch o’er my down-lying 
Here in this place. 

When 1 arise again 
Still be my stay. 

When dangers threaten me, 

Cast them away. 

Jesus, my blessed Lord! 

Mary so fair! 

Hearken and comfort me. 

Grant me my prayer! 

And here Clairet, as he marched aiound the 
room waving his flag, a fierce little sans-culotte 
blazing with Revolutionary fury, broke in with : 

Dansons la Carmagnole 
Vive le son ! Vive le son ! — 

the air with which all Paris was ringing, and to 
which the guillotine was working blithely at its 
brave work of slicing off the heads of Aristocrats. 
But the hearts of Lazuli and Adeline were too 
deeply moved to heed him; and Adeline, clasping 
her slender hands before her, chanted softly: 

Mary Magdalen walked weeping. 

By the way she met St. John — 

“ Is our Christ his watch still keeping? 

Tell me that he is not gone ! ” 

Said St. John; “ He still protects us 
With his mercy and his grace ; 

Still in Paradise expects us — 

1 have seen him, face to face. 

“ Pierced his hands and feet, and bleeding ; 

Bleeding ’neath the thorns, his brow : 

Yet he hearkened to my pleading — 

Gave me comforting enow. 


®l)e ^eetimong of tl}e Hnife. 77 


“ Said he tenderly, yet sadly, 

Smiling at me through his pain : 

‘ All who wearied are shall gladly 
Find in me sweet rest again. 

“ ‘ 1 will soothe all pain and sorrow, 

1 will dry all weeping eyes ; 

And my chosen shall to-morrow 
Fare with me to Paradise ! ’ ” 

Clairet, with a fresh flourishing of his flag, broke 
in again : 

Vive le son du Canon ! 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

But his song went unchecked, as Adeline poured 
her very heart out in pleading prayer: 

“Take pity, oh God, on my father and on my 
mother and on me! Take pity on Pascalet — who 
is far away from us ! Do not let him forget me. 
Keep him safe for me. Bring him back to me. 
Have pity on me in my misery. Hear my prayer, 
kind Father who art in heaven: for thine is the 
glory and the power and the kingdom forever. 
Amen! ” 

And Clairet piped in his shrill treble: 

Ho, good citizens ! we need bread ! 

And steel and powder, and bullets of lead ! 

Then Lazuli put up another prayer in her own 
simple words: “Great and Holy Maries of the 
Sea! Let the days of my Vauclair be fair and 
sweet, and grant that my little Clairet and our 
dear Pascalet may be saved from all sorrows. 
With all my heart and soul I pray to you, kind 
and beautiful ladies. Grant my prayer, and ever- 
more save and guard us. O great and Holy Maries 
of the Sea! ” 

And Clairet sang shrill again : 

6 


78 


®lic iEerror. 


What is the steel for? Vengeance of God ! 

What is the lead for? Foes from abroad ! 

But the bread is for our brethren, who hungered are a-sore — 
Oh we’ll gaily dance 
O’er the length of France 
To the sound of the cannon’s roar ! 

Lazuli, rising from her knees, crossed the room 
quickly to Clairet and caught him up in her arms. 
“Oh my baby,” she said, “why do you sing that 
song now ? ” But his only answer was to laugh 
mischievously while she undressed him, and then 
cuddled him snug and warm into the soft bed; so 
soft that he sank down into it until all that showed 
of him was his nose and his shining eyes, as bright 
as sparks. Standing beside him Lazuli sang 
softly : 

Bye-a-bye, babykin ! 

Shut fast each peep. 

Hurry to shut them tight ! 

Flurry to sleep ! 

Quick, little babykin ! 

Quick — or who knows 

But that the Blackamoor’ll 
Pinch baby’s toes ? 

As she sang, she laid her hand softly on 
Clairet’s forehead. But when she finished sing- 
ing, and gently drew her hand away, there still 
shone the two bright little mischievous eyes. 

“ Why don’t you go to sleep ” 

“ 1 want to see the great long knife.” 

“ Sleep, baby! You shall see it to-morrow.” 

“The nice old woman said she’d go and 
get it.” 

“It’s dark. She can’t find it now, little one. 
But to-morrow ” 

“ Yes, but she has found it. 1 hear her com- 
ing.” 

And so she was. At that moment the door 


®cstimon 2 of tlie Enife. 


79 


opened and Joy came in, closing the door after her 
carefully. She was as pale as death, her lips 
moved, but she could not speak. Her whole body 
trembled. 

“What is the matter, Joy What dreadful 
thing has happened now ? ” cried Lazuli in alarm. 

But Joy, without answering, threw herself into 
a chair and looked as though in another moment 
she would swoon away. Lazuli and Adeline ran 
to support her. Her head fell forward on her 
breast. In a voice full of fear she gasped: “ Look 
at this! ’’ 

As she spoke, she drew forth from beneath her 
apron and held toward them a great knife — a 
blood-stained knife with broken point and nicked 
edge. To the handle, still sticky with blood, were 
clinging long white hairs. 

Adeline and Lazuli started back in horror, 
while little Clairet, who had raised himself in the 
bed to see the knife, hid his head beneath the 
sheets screaming: “ It’s La Jacarasse’s knife! I’m 
afraid! I’m afraid!’* 

“ No, this is not La Jacarasse’s knife,” Joy said, 
still trembling, and speaking in a low, uncertain 
voice. “ This is the very knife that Monsieur Ca- 
listo brought home yesterday and sharpened so 
carefully on the grind-stone. I know it perfectly 
well. While he was grinding it I went out into 
the yard. At first he did not seem pleased at my 
coming, but then he held it up for me to look at. 
‘See, Joy,’ he said, ‘here’s something that’ll 
scare away the sans-culottes should they attack 
me!’ And then he laughed and said: ‘When the 
bad times are over you can have it in the kitchen 
— for a good knife always comes in handily, in 
good times and in bad!’ And then he went on 
with his grinding, and until he had it as sharp as 


8o 


QLcrxox, 


a razor he ground and ground and ground ! But 
look at it now! The point broken, great notches 
in its edge, all bloody and stuck with hairs! Saints 
in Heaven! Whose hairs can they be ?” 

Lazuli and Adeline had drawn nearer again. 
“ Ifs the hair of some poor old man,” said Lazuli 
in a low and fearful voice. “ See! it is as white as 
snow! ” 

‘‘But why did Monsieur Calisto go to bed 
without telling me what had happened to him ? ” 
Joy went on. “It must have been, I suppose, 
that he did not want to frighten me. And that 
was the reason why he was so careful, when he 
thought I was not looking, to hide the knife away. 
That would be just like him. He always is so 
thoughtful and so kind. But oh, as I see this knife 
now my blood seems to freeze in my veins. What 
is worst about it is the hair — this long silky white 
hair! It is just like the beautiful hair of Monsieur 
le Comte! Can he have been fighting with some 
one to save Monsieur le Comte ? How I long for 
to-morrow to come that he may tell me all about 
it. He must tell me the whole truth. I love our 
dear master as much as he does. I am only a poor 
old woman, but I also would fight to save Mon- 
sieur le Comte — aye, and I would die for him 
too! 

“ But you must not let this dreadful thing keep 
you awake, my dears,” joy went on kindly. And 
then, a little inconsequently, added: “As for me, 

I shall not sleep a wink all night! ” And with this 
she rose to leave the room. 

“Try to sleep, dear Joy,” said Lazuli, trying to 
comfort her. “If Monsieur Calisto told you noth- 
ing, you may be sure there was nothing bad to 
tell.” But Lazuli’s tone was not an assured one, 
and she still was very pale. 


Scstimong of tl)e Knife. 


8i 


“God grant that you are right,” Joy answered; 
and as she spoke she crossed herself with her left 
hand. In her right hand was the bloody knife. 
And then she opened the door softly and went 
away, 

Adeline stood staring at Lazuli with eyes wide 
open and dismayed. 

“Do not be frightened, my own child,” said 
Lazuli. “Lie down and rest. This is the house 
of good and kind people. Whatever dreadful 
things may be happening, we are safe here.” 

“But I am frightened — terribly frightened!” 
Adeline answered. And as she spoke she crossed 
the room and pushed fast the bolt in the door. 

“There is nothing to fear, little one. And, 
see, 1 am here to take care of you!” and Lazuli 
put her arms around Adeline, as though to shield 
her from all harm. 

“I’m frightened too!” called out Clairet from 
the depths of the bed. “I’m afraid of Monsieur 
Calisto’s big knife ! ” 

Lazuli unclasped her arms from about Adeline 
and went to the bedside. “Don’t be scared, my 
Clairet. The bad knife is gone away. See, it 
really is gone!” And as she spoke she drew 
down the bed-clothes, and Clairet — a little rosy 
cherub — sat up in the bed and with his bright 
eyes cast quick fearful glances about the room. 

Lazuli laid her hand gently on his forehead as 
she said: “Yes, it is gone. And now, my baby, 
say your prayers. While we were praying, you 
were singing ‘ La Carmagnole,’ you naughty child. 
Come, now, say it after me: 

“ Our Father in Heaven — ” 

“Our Father in Heaven — ” 

“ Make me big and good.” 


82 


®l)e terror. 


“ And if I am not good — ” 

“And if I am not good — ’’ 

“ Then let me die.” 

“No, no! I don’t want to say that. I don’t 
want to die! ” 

“Well, perhaps you needn’t say that. But 
then you must be very, very good. And you 
must begin right off being very good by shutting 
your eyes tight and going to sleep without a 
word.” 

And so little Clairet, that he should not die, 
shut his eyes tight and fell fast asleep under his 
mother’s soft warm hand. 

Adeline, without undressing, laid herself down 
on the. other bed and also closed. her eyes. But 
sleep would not come to her— worn out though 
she was by all the fright and misery of the day. 
Presently, very gently. Lazuli lifted her hand from 
Clairet’s eyes and noiselessly lay down beside 
Lazuli. 

Silence reigned in the house. The only faint 
sound was the quick-drawn breath of those who 
had been so cruelly tried that day ; and with this, 
from time to time, a little hissing sputter in the 
lamp that swayed before the silver virgin in her 
shrine. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A NIGHT OF DREAD. 

It was a long, long night. The morning 
seemed as though it never would come at all. 
Beside Adeline, fearful of disturbing her, Lazuli 
lay rigid — and in the darkness the bloody knife 
kept flashing before her eyes. 

Lazuli was puzzled. She could not understand 
how it was that Calisto had been on guard at the 
Impasse Guemenee to warn them that Surto and 
La Jacarasse were lying in wait for Adeline at 
Planchot’s door. That proved that he knew the 
wretches well enough to know their plans. But 
what could an honest man have to do with those 
two ? — with a dirty old reprobate like La Jacarasse, 
and with that villain of a Surto who deliberately 
had betrayed his master into the hands of the 
sans-culottes ? And what had Calisto been doing 
with that dreadful knife ? — that he had taken out 
new and bright and shining in the morning, and 
at night had brought home again notched, point- 
less, bloody, and matted with those ghastly white 
hairs. Had she not with her own eyes seen how 
gentle and how kind he was; had she not felt 
sure that he really had saved Adeline’s life, and 
perhaps her own; had she not heard Joy’s good 
account of him. Lazuli would have been filled 
with a lively fear of Calisto. And even with so 
much to make her have faith in him she was 

83 


84 


terror. 


haunted with a boding fear that he was their 
enemy. 

All night long, as she lay sleepless, she was 
beset by torturing doubts. Could Calisto be 
trusted ? Was he as Joy had said he was, faith- 
ful and true and kind ? At times she would settle 
it all in his favour and for a while would breathe 
freely. And then would come a sudden fresh 
rush of doubt as she thought: “What has he 
been doing with that knife ? Is he a murderer ? 
Why is he so close to Surto and La Jacarasse.? 
And why has he brought us here ? Are we in a 
trap ?” Oh that daylight might come, so that she 
might go to the Planchots and find out the truth ! 
And then, swinging around again, little by little 
all the good reasons she had for believing in 
Calisto’s faithfulness would reassert themselves 
and she would feel safe and confident — only pres- 
ently to have her doubts come back again and 
start her once more on the same dreary round. 
Would the dead silence never be broken ? Would 
daylight never come ? 

The intense silence was oppressive, horrible. 
It seemed as though Paris were a graveyard — 
worse than a graveyard, for the cypresses which 
grow above the graves at least sway in the wind 
with a gentle motion, and in their rustling 
branches perch hooting owls. In graveyards at 
least are the souls of the dear dead — flickering in 
tear-shaped flames as they hover above their 
tombs. This silent, still Paris in the midst of 
which Lazuli lay sleepless seemed to her a most 
dreadful void. But no, Paris was not a void. 
Chill horror, cold as a serpent’s belly, remained 
there. Terror was there — a frozen image, with 
hair on end, with face distorted, with a mouth 
wide open as though to shriek, yet silent. No, 


^ M9l)t of ?Drcab. 


85 


Paris was not deserted. In those red days and 
nights of revolution Paris and Terror were one! 

Adeline also lay sleepless, yet motionless, be- 
cause she believed that Lazuli slept. But she was 
not racked, as Lazuli was racked, by poignant 
doubts and fears. Her youthful purity could not 
sound the depths of human wickedness; and in 
her simple soul she even fancied that her cruel 
sorrows must have come to her as a punishment 
for her sins — and in her little heart she sought, but 
vainly, to find those sins! Yet her thoughts were 
less of her own sufferings than of the mystery 
that hung about her father’s fate, and of the loss 
of the mother who seemed utterly to have forgot- 
ten her. 

“ Where can they be ?” she thought. “What 
are they doing ? Perhaps they are in pain and 
trouble — while I’m here on a good bed, doing noth- 
ing to find them or to give them aid.” And then 
her thoughts shifted to her Pascalet. Why had he 
gone off without saying good-bye ? Oh, had he 
but realized that she loved him as her brother, 
more than her brother even, he would not have 
abandoned her there in the wolf s jaws. Where 
was he at that very moment? Was he on the 
way to the frontier — tired, hungry, his heavy gun 
on his shoulder, dragging his bleeding feet along 
the road while the pelting rain sent a chill into the 
very marrow of his bones? Oh, could she but 
meet him once more — and she, he, her father and 
her mother, all go back together to the Chateau de 
la Garde! Then he no more should be left in the 
forlorn little cabin where he had spent his life. 
She would bring him to the Chateau, and he would 
live there always — would live there always, close 
by her side! 

Calisto’s blood-stained knife troubled her but 


86 


^\)c (terror. 


little. She was satisfied that Calisto was a good 
man. He must be — he had saved her from the 
clutches of Surto and La Jacarasse. For that she 
was grateful to him. But even her gratitude to 
Calisto had little hold upon her thoughts — which 
came back always to Pascalet. Her troubles were 
forgotten when she thought of Pascalet. As her 
memories of him filled her mind she was soothed 
and comforted and consoled. And presently she 
was still farther soothed and comforted as a verse 
of her Provencal prayer came back to her, and she 
whispered to herself softly : 

Said St. John: “ He still protects us 
With his mercy and his grace; 

Still in Paradise expects us — 

I have seen him face to face.” 

And SO the two women, each thinking her 
own thoughts, lay side by side wakeful. Only 
little Clairet, warmly cuddled down in his great 
white bed, slept soundly. The angels must have 
been close by watching him, for in his sleep he 
smiled! 

Nor did sleep come that night to the two 
others in that quiet house: Joy and Calisto. joy 
could not get over her fright, and in her bed lay 
trembling. With Calisto matters were still worse. 
He would have been only too glad to sleep; but, 
somehow, the warm jet of blood which had spurt- 
ed into his face that very morning as he plunged 
his knife into his master’s neck still burned and 
stung. Nor was that all that kept him wakeful. 
Slender, thin lipped, sallow, with his snake’s eyes 
and his stone heart. Monsieur Calisto had the same 
fixity of purpose that a snake has — along with its 
supple spine. Envious and hypocritical, proud 
and cruel-hearted, he also was tenacious. To 
satisfy his pride and his desires, he was capable of 


^ Mg lit of ?! 3 teaJr. 


87 


anything. He would have set the world on fire 
to gain his own ends. 

Though he had killed his master and benefac- 
tor, though all day long he had worn his blood- 
stained clothes, it was not remorse nor shame that 
made him lie awake there — with his snaky glitter- 
ing eyes, black as the blackest night, wide open 
in the darkness. What he was intent on was the 
reckoning up the riches that were his since the 
morning. He counted the acres, the houses, the 
farms, the bags of gold — all that had become his 
from the moment that his master’s blood had 
spurted up into his face. Yes, it all was his — 
surely his! The bill of sale that Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernede had written out for him 
made that clear beyond a peradventure. This 
great property was all and every bit of it his own ! 

Then his thoughts turned enviously to Surto — 
who had gained a still larger fortune when he 
smashed the life out of the Marquis d’Ambrun 
with his iron bar. But, to be sure, Surto had not 
as yet — as he had — a clear title to his riches. 
Adeline must die before they could absolutely be- 
long to him. What a pity, what an outrage it 
was, thought the excellent Calisto, that a scoun- 
drel like Surto, and a filthy wretch like La Jaca- 
rasse, should own castles and lands and be great 
people under the mantle of the Provencal sun ! 

Now in the case of an educated man, a man 
who knew how to keep up his rank in life — such 
a man as he was himself, in short — the conditions 
were totally different. He was entirely satisfied 
that he, Calisto des Sablees, could lord it with the 
best of them when he got back to his estates. 
(How nicely that phrase sounded, “his estates,” 
he thought!) But coarse brutes like La Jacarasse 
and Surto — how ridiculously wrong it was that 


88 


terror. 


they should be endowed with riches and lord- 
ships and lands! And then Calisto indulged in 
the pleasure of exhibiting to himself his soundly 
conservative opinions, and of unfolding to himself 
his admirably arranged plans. 

“No,” he said, “we cannot permit the dregs 
of society thus to come to the top. We of the 
better class must make a firm stand against that 
sort of thing. And, in this particular case, I can 
make a stand against it — and I will! To me the 
Comtessine Adeline owes everything. I have 
saved her life. She is mine. She will not refuse 
to marry me; certainly she shall not refuse! I 
will give her a position worthy of her birth. I 
will make her the Comtesse de la Vernede — for it 
is only reasonable that with the Chateau and the 
estate I shall take the name. It will not be diffi- 
cult, in these times, to get the title too. Yes, cer- 
tainly, I shall become the Comte de la Vernede. 
Of course, before all this, I must get rid of La 
Jacarasse and Surto: and of the old Marquise — if 
they have not already spared me that trouble, as 
they very likely have. Perhaps it will be better 
not to kill the two wretches myself, but to deliver 
them up to justice. Yes, that certainly will be the 
better way. It will make my position the more 
secure. 

“And I shall be very secure in my position — 
I, the Comte de la Vernede, the husband of the 
Comtesse d’Ambrun, the owner of Malemort. I 
shall be held in honour. No one will be able to 
reproach me. I can walk anywhere with my 
Comtesse on my arm ! These revolutionary times 
will not last forever. Peace and tranquility soon 
must come again. In four days the Prussian army 
will be here to deliver us from this rabble. Then 
we people of position will be safe. We can go 


^ JUreab. 


89 


through the streets in our sedan-chairs or our 
carriages, we can go to church in a becoming 
manner, we can live again in our castles and rule 
our serfs as we have done always. Yes, oh, yes, 
the good times soon will return ! ” 

But beneath his sanguine cheerfulness Calisto 
was troubled by one little carking doubt. “ Sup- 
pose,” he went on, “that Adeline should have 
some reason for refusing to marry me ? Suppose 
there is some one she already loves ? It cannot 
be the Comte de Roberty, to whom she was be- 
trothed; and if it were, it would make no differ- 
ence. La Jacarasse settled that matter — lovers do 
not return from the depths of the Rhone. But 
who is this Pascalet of whom she talks so much — 
about whom she went a-sighing when she spoke 
his name ? Perhaps I may have to put out his 
light too. But scarcely, I think. He seems to 
have been one of the peasants in her own village. 
Pascalet! The name sounds that way — and, sure- 
ly, she will be above becoming Madame Pascalet, 
she the daughter of the Marquis d’Ambrun. 1 am 
a fool even to think about it. All in good time 
this little Countess will be my bride. 

“To be sure,” he continued in a tone of philo- 
sophical reflection, “it will be all the same in one 
way if she isn’t. What I really want are her lands 
and her money, and these 1 certainly shall have. 
If she wants to marry her peasant, that is her own 
affair. It is as easy to get rid of four as of three. 
Surto and La Jacarasse and the Marquise shall go 
in a bunch to the bottom of that well in the cellar 
— where I startled them the other day when I 
caught them with their box of gold. It is easily 
done. I have only to get them drunk, and then — 
down they go! And after that, if I must, I can 
strangle the Comtessine. It is only what Surto 


90 


®l)e (terror. 


meant to do. Whichever way I play it, the game 
is in my hands.” 

These thoughts, cold and clear, went gallop- 
ing through Calisto’s brain. He settled it all 
satisfactorily in his mind. Whatever happened, 
he would be the master absolute of two fortunes 
— that of the Marquis d’Ambrun and that of the 
Comte de la Vernede. He saw himself driving in 
a fine carriage along the Avignon road. He saw 
the peasants dropping down into the roadside 
ditches that he might have room to pass. He 
saw them bow to him humbly, cap in hand. At 
his Chateau he saw himself receiving the princes 
and princesses who passed that way. There, too, 
he could give grand fetes to his neighbours — re- 
turned again from their flight into Prussia, and all 
more or less broken in fortune, but great nobles 
still. And chief among these, because of his 
riches, he saw himself: he, Calisto des Sablees, at 
the very head of the nobility of Provence, of 
Languedoc, of the Comtat Venaissin! And with 
these glorious thoughts possessing him, he tossed 
and tumbled in his bed waiting for day to dawn. 


CHAPTER IX. 


AN HONEST MAN OR — A RASCAL.? 

At last the daylight came. When the cracks 
of the shutters began to whiten Calisto put on his 
slippers, flung the old Comte's dressing-gown about 
him, and went softly down stairs and into the 
little dark room beneath them. There he put on 
the breeches, the coat, the cocked hat, the red 
scarf and the coarse shirt, of a sans-culotte. 
Then, taking his gun and his knife — the knife still 
stained with the blood of his master and to which 
still clung his master’s white hairs — he went out 
very quietly; walking on tip-toe so as to disturb 
no one until he was outside the door, and then 
starting off at a brisk pace to the Planchot’s house 
in the Impasse Guemenee. 

As he went through the Rue du Pas de la 
Mule he caught sight of an open cellar window. 
He pulled the bloody knife out of his belt and 
flung it into the black opening, and kept on rap- 
idly without looking back. He felt wonderfully 
light-hearted as he walked onward. It seemed to 
him that in throwing away the knife he had got 
clear of a heavy load that had been crushing him. 

It was so very early that the streets were de- 
serted of all save a few poor wretches dangling 
from the lanterns to which, overnight, they had 
been hanged. They twisted and twirled in the 
morning breeze like bladders hung over the 

91 


92 


QLl)c ©error. 


kitchen chimney to dry. By the time that he 
reached the Impasse Guemenee the sun was up 
and it was broad daylight. But the sun had not 
yet power enough to disperse the heavy mist 
overhanging the Seine. Seen through this mist, 
the sun looked for all the world like a white din- 
ner plate. 

Planchot’s door was open and Calisto entered 
without knocking. The workshop was all upside 
down. Tools were lying about the floor, the 
bench was upset, shavings were scattered every- 
where. No one was to be seen, but Calisto did not 
call out. Quietly he went upstairs, softly raised 
the latch and opened the door, and so came upon 
Planchot and his wife. They were sitting dole- 
fully by the fire, making a tisane of agrimony 
with which to cool their blood. The two old 
people had their heads bound up in linen cloths. 
But as the sham sans-culotte entered — bruised and 
ill and frightened though they were — they stood 
up ready to defend themselves. Planchot had his 
axe beside him this time, and in an instant he had 
seized it and was swinging it in his hand. 

But before he could use it Calisto said in his 
fawning, gentle voice: “Good people! oh, good 
people, do not be frightened. I am here as a friend, 
and soon you shall know and shall see that I mean 
you no harm. On the contrary, 1 shall be of serv- 
ice to you — for I know what happened to you last 
night, and I have come to shield you from any far- 
ther injury. And first I will tell you that Adeline 
and Lazuli and the little boy are safe. They are 
safe with me, and 1 will care for them as though 
they were my own people.” 

Planchofs wife had picked up the shovel and 
held it poised ready to strike, but on hearing these 
words she put it down again and with tears in her 


honest ittan or — a Hascai? 


93 


eyes exclaimed: “Ah, good man that you are, 
surely God has sent you to us ! Here we are sit- 
ting together almost dead. My poor Planchot 
cannot hold himself up. But we won’t mind any- 
thing if only, as you tell us, no harm has come to 
that dear child.’’ 

“Hold your tongue!” cried Planchot. “I 
can’t stand straight, can’t I ? Yes, I can, though. 
And now that I have my axe, let all three of those 
scoundrels come on and I’ll brain the lot of 
’em! And so you say, young man, \\rA\.you saved 
Lazuli and Adeline and the little boy. How did 
you do it } ” 

“It’s a long story,” Calisto answered, turning 
to stand his gun in the corner between the wall 
and the kneading-trough. As he turned back 
again, Planchot sprang at him and clutched his 
throat with one hand, while with the other he 
raised his axe, shouting: “You scoundrel! I have 
you fast! You were one of ’em yourself! I know 
you — and this time you won’t get away! ” 

Planchofs wife threw herself between the two 
men, and as Calisto vainly tried to loosen Plan- 
chot’s grip she exclaimed: “ Planchot! Planchot! 
You’re crazy! How could you recognize this man 
or anybody while you were lying there dead } ” 

“I dead, indeed! I only pretended, you old 
goose! Let him just dare to say he wasn’t here — 
miserable wretch that he is! ” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” gasped Calisto, as he felt 
Planchofs nails settling deeper and deeper into his 
neck. “ Yes, I was here — but I was here to save 
the three poor innocents who now are safe and 
sound in my house. If that wasn’t so, why 
would I have come to tell you of them } I would 
have kept clear of your axe! ” 

“Let him go ! ” cried Planchofs wife. “Let 


94 


iJl)c error. 


him go, I say! Don’t you see that you’re stran- 
gling him ? If you strangle him right out, how are 
we ever going to know where our people are ? ” 
And again she tried to loosen her husband’s fingers 
from Calisto's throat. 

But the terrible little joiner would not by any 
means let go. “No, I’ve got him and 1 mean to 
hang on to him,” he said. “But I’ll give him a 
chance to speak, and we’ll see how he can explain 
it all. Last night I did pretend I was dead — three 
against one was too much for me. Now we are 
man to man — and do you take notice, my lad, 
you shall not go out of my house with your 
head on your shoulders if I find that you’re telling 
us lies! ” 

As he spoke he loosened his grip a little, and 
Calisto, in a very reedy voice, said: “ It is true, as 
I have told you, 1 was one of the three who were 
here yesterday. The others were Surto and La 
Jacarasse ” 

“ La Jacarasse wasn’t here at all ! ” cried Plan- 
chot. And his long bony fingers squeezed so hard 
again that Calisto's tongue hung out of his mouth 
and he began to gasp. 

“You’ll strangle him, I tell you! You’ll strangle 
him before he has time to say a word!” put in 
Planchof s wife in great alarm. 

“You lie, you dog ! ” cried Planchot. “There 
were only men here — three men. I saw them 
plain enough while I lay there pretending to be 
dead.” 

“Never mind what you saw,” put in Plan- 
chof s wife again. “ And never mind if he does 
lie. If that young man has saved Adeline and La- 
zuli and little Clairet, you sha’n’t strangle him! 
At least, not till he has told us where they are.” 

“Well, let him tell then,” said Planchot, relax- 


hottest illan or— a Hascal? 


95 


ing his grip again. “ But he’d better be quick 
about it, and he’d better be careful what he says ! ” 

Being thus advised, Calisto took a deep breath 
or two and then went on. “You are right in one 
way,” he said. “ We did seem to be three men. 
But one of the three was La Jacarasse dressed up 
in a man’s clothes. It was she who stuffed shav- 
ings into your wife’s mouth so that she could not 
scream.” 

“There, now! ” said Planchot’s wife. “Don’t 
you see that I was right in telling you to giv6 him 
a chance to speak ? It’ll be time enough to scrag 
him when he takes to lying. One of ’em did 
stuff shavings into my mouth when I opened it to 
scream. That much is true. And so, young 
man, you say it was La Jacarasse dressed up as a 
man ? ” 

Calisto’s statement of an undoubted fact having 
gained him a standing before the court, Planchot 
let loose his windpipe altogether and was content 
to encourage him to be both trank and truthful by 
standing close in front of him balancing deftly the 
big axe. Planchot was a little devil of a man, 
and the axe was a devil of a big one. Calisto 
could not but eye them both nervously. But he 
had clearly in his mind what he meant to say, and 
so managed to say it in a straightforward fashion 
— though in rather finer language than Planchot 
and his wife were accustomed to; and they, on 
their side, being deeply interested in his story, did 
not interrupt him in it and let him tell it in his 
own way. He began by answering the question 
put by Planchot’s wife; and from that went on to 
a statement of the facts at large. 

“Yes, Madam,” he said, bowing to Plan- 
chofs wife, “it was La Jacarasse, that tarasque 
of. a woman, who stuffed your mouth with shav- 


96 


(terror. 


ings — and I fear that things might have gone still 
worse with you had I not been along! That 1 
had the good fortune to be with them happened 
in this way: They were aware that I was ac- 
quainted with many of their black crimes, and 
they fancied — because 1 have been biding my time 
in giving them up to justice — that 1 was their 
friend. And so, when they wanted help in ab- 
ducting Mademoiselle Adeline, being horribly afraid 
of Monsieur Planchot’s axe ” (here Planchot swung 
his axe and strutted a little) “ they came to me. 
You may imagine how embarrassing was the situ- 
ation in which this inkimous request placed me! 
But presently 1 saw how good might come of my 
consenting, in appearance, to take part in their 
projected outrage. To myself I said: ‘ By going 
with them 1 can rescue that unfortunate young 
lady, the Comtessine d’Ambrun — whose father and 
my own dear master have been friends for years. 
Perhaps 1 also may be of service to the excellent 
Monsieur and Madame Planchot ’ — and with that 
my duty was clear. Dissembling my repugnance, 
my horror, 1 consented. They were overjoyed ! 

“ Fortunately, all went well. By a most happy 
chance, the Comtessine and Mise Lazuli did not 
return to the house with you. Had they done so, 

1 shudder as 1 think what might have been the 
event! Certainly, Surto and La Jacarasse would 
have set upon you — and who knows what La 
Jacarasse might have done with her knife before I 
could have come to your aid ! When you re- 
turned without them, my plan of rescue was 
formed in a moment. 1 told the vile wretches 
with whom 1 was associated that 1 would leave 
them hidden at the foot of the alley in the dark- 
ness, and that I would take my post at its en- 
trance— out on the Rue Saint-Antoine. In that 


^oncst iHan or— a Hascal? 


97 


way, I pointed out, we would surround our prey 
and escape would be hopeless — so sensible an 
arrangement that they were content with it and 
let me go. 

“ But what I really did was just the contrary. 
As soon as I caught sight of the Comtessine and 
Mise Lazuli, who led the little Clairet by the hand, 
I went up to them and said: ‘Dear people, silve 
yourselves! Do not venture to return to Plan- 
chot’s. Surto and La Jacarasse are waiting at his 
door to murder you. Go at once and hide your- 
selves in the ruins of the Bastille. Presently 1 will 
come to you there, and will carry you to a place 
of safety ’ — and, a little later, that is what 1 did! 

“They left me; and then, from my post at the 
entrance of the alley, I saw Madame Planchot come 
out with her lantern, and Surto and La Jacarasse 
fling themselves upon her just as she was return- 
ing into the shop. Knowing that the others were 
out of all danger, 1 rushed at once to save you 
from hurt if 1 could — and certainly, at all hazards 
to myself, to save your lives. Unfortunately I 
arrived too late to save you from hurt. You 
both were down flat on your backs in your own 
shavings. But 1 waited until I made sure that 
your lives were in no danger, and then I hurried 
away to join those three terrified innocents who 
were waiting for me in the ruins of the Bastille. 
And now let me tell you, to finish a long story, 
they all three are safe in my house — where they 
have had good beds to sleep in and are securely 
hidden from every sort of harm. This morning I 
have come here because 1 hoped that in some way 
I might be of service to you; and because I was 
sure that what I had to tell you about the Comtes- 
sine and Mise Lazuli and little Clairet would set at 
rest your minds.” 


98 


®l)e terror. 


Planchot’s wife nodded her head in a superior 
way and with evident satisfaction. “There, 
Planchot,” she said, “didn’t I tell you that this 
young man oughtn’t to be strangled ? He’s a 
truly good young man — good all the way 
through ! ” 

Planchot was not so easily satisfied. “I don’t 
say that he isn’t,” he admitted; “but 1 do say 
that he keeps mighty bad company. Birds of a 
feather flock together— and La Jacarasse and Surto 
are carrion birds! Have you finished, young 
man ? ” 

“No, not quite,” Calisto answered, much 
pleased that he had half the court with him. “ I 
came also to tell you that when you want to give 
those carrion birds, as you rightly call them, a 
taste of your axe you can count on me to help 
you. You seem to know something about them. 
How much do you know ? ” 

“1 know this much,” Planchot answered: 
“That Surto gave up his master to the sans- 
culottes, and that the old man was put in prison. 
What prison it was I don’t know, though we tried 
hard to find out. And I don’t know what became 
of him. We hunted everywhere for him for 
our little Adeline’s sake. She was all the time 
calling on us to find her father for her. We did 
our best, but he wasn’t to be found. 

“ Well, my good Monsieur Planchot, you need 
not look any more. The Comtessine never again 
will see her father. Surto and La Jacarasse beat 
out his brains yesterday morning in the Prison of 
the Abbaye! ” 

“How do you know that.^” Planchot asked 
sharply. 

“ I know it,” Calisto answered, “ on the best 
authority. I have it from the assassins themselves. 


i^cjucst illan or— a Hlascal? 


99 


And shall I tell you why they murdered him ? It 
was that they might possess themselves of his 
estates. The poor Marquis was induced to exe- 
cute in Surto’s favour a bill of sale of all his prop- 
erty, under the specious plea that should he be 
compelled to emigrate he thus would save his es- 
tates from confiscation. But the moment that this 
paper was signed the miserable wretch betrayed 
his master into prison, and never rested until with 
his own hands he had murdered him. Before 
that, at the storming of the King’s Castle, he trai- 
torously shot the Marquis’ son. Monsieur Robert. 
And so, you see, there now is no one left but gen- 
tle little Adeline who could lawfully make him dis- 
gorge his prey. That is the reason why he and 
Lajacarasse, who shares his plunder, are so firmly 
determined to compass that beautiful and good 
young lady’s death. And that is why I have 
sworn to protect her, and why I ask your aid.” 

As this story was told, Planchof s wife snorted, 
and Planchof s stiff hair fairly bristled with rage. 
“I’m your man!” he cried, his eyes flashing, 
“fm your man, sir! Here’s my razor! I’ll shave 
their beards so close that they’ll never need to 
shave again ! ” — and he flourished his axe savagely 
in the air. 

^ “No, you’re not his man. Planchot!” his wife 
struck in, suddenly getting into a great twitter 
y about him. “Do you think I’ll let you go to 
fighting with those murderers.^ Not a bit of it! 
They’d make mincemeat of you! Surto is worse 
than the dreadful man-dog that at night comes 
ravaging out from the Chambaud sewer in Avi- 
gnon. And as to La Jacarasse, the tarasque that 
Saint Martha caught and tamed at Tarascon was a 
sheep to her! No, my Planchot — you will stay at 
home! ” 


TOO 


^[)c terror. 


“Hold your tongue, wife! I know what I 
will do and what 1 won’t. Any one would think, 
to hear you chattering, that 1 was a rusted out old 
fool.” 

“Don’t you worry about this man of yours, 
my good woman,” said Calisto, coming down a 
little in the elegance of his speech. “ This is seri- 
ous work, and we’ll settle about it without sput- 
tering — we won’t burst out like badly fitted bungs. 
You’ll see that we’ll fix things so that the man-dog 
and the tarasque will tumble right into the snares! 
We’ll have them fast without risk of our own 
skins at all. 

“But our immediate duty,” continued Calisto, 
picking himself up again, “is to assure the welfare 
of Mademoiselle la Comtessine. For the present, 
she must remain closely concealed in my house. 
Should she venture to come here, she certainly 
would be lost. That you must impress upon her 
when you see her. Those two villains surely will 
continue their search for her. That they failed to 
effect their evil purpose last night will make them 
only the more determined to succeed. And, above 
all, you must help me to prevent Mademoiselle 
Adeline from starting for Avignon. God preserve 
her from taking the coach ! Before she had gone 
two leagues she would be in the clutches of those 
monsters. You see, I count upon your assistance 
confidently. Between us, nothing must be left 
undone to save the Comtessine and to plan out a 
scheme that will make her would-be murderers 
bite the dust ! ” 

“Ah, how well he talks!” said Planchofs 
wife. “Didn’t I tell you that he was a good 
man ? ” 

“ He talks a great deal too well! ” said Planchot 
to himself. “And as to his being a good man, 


igoncst iHan or— a Boscal? 


lOI 


that’s a matter that time will show.” But what 
Planchot said aloud, after nodding his head for a 
while in silence as he turned things over in his 
mind, was; “Certainly, what you tell us is rea- 
sonable, and what you ask us to do shall be done. 
But all the same,” he went on, his voice breaking 
a little, “it is mighty hard on us to lose our little 
Adeline this way! I’ve never said anything to 
any body about it, but all along I’ve had it in mind 
that if things kept on going wrong with her we — 
who have neither chick nor child of our own — 
would make a daughter of her and give her a 
place in our own home. I meant that as long as 
we lived we would care for her, and that when 
we died we’d leave her what we have. Yes in- 
deed,” Planchot went on, and by this time he 
fairly was blubbering, “yes indeed. I’d counted 
on having her for a daughter. I’d counted on 
having that flower blooming in the field of our 
old age ! ” 

“And it’s what I’ve been counting on too!” 
cried Planchot’s wife. “1 didn’t dare to speak 
about it, but it’s what I’ve been hoping for all 
along. ” And she clapped her knees and burst out 
crying, and then jumped up and flung herself into 
her husband’s arms — and for awhile they sobbed 
on each other’s shoulders and did not speak a 
word. 

“Ah,” said Calisto, with an admirable intona- 
tion, “it is easy to see that you really love that 
poor girl tenderly, and that you will help her in 
all possible ways. And now let me tell you,” he 
went on, lowering his voice and glancing around 
the room cautiously, “if you will be very prudent 
you may see her by coming to my master’s house, 
where 1 now am living, in the Rue de Bretagne. 
But remember, remember most carefully, that every 


102 


QL\)t (terror. 


time you come you are to assure yourselves that 
you are not followed and that you must never come 
twice by the same way. For 1 warn you solemnly 
that on the day when those two villains find out 
where she is hidden, that day will she be lost! ” 

“But Lazuli and little Clairet, surely they can 
come to see us said Planchot’s wife, as she un- 
tangled herself from her husband’s arms. 

“Certainly,” Calisto answered. “Indeed, if 
you wish it, they even can come back here to 
stay until the coach starts for Avignon. Only 
they and you must be very careful to conceal 
Mademoiselle Adeline’s hiding place. 

“And now I have said what I came to say, 
and I must go. But 1 shall see you again soon. 
We must keep in touch with each other to guard 
against anything going wrong.” 

He turned to leave the room as he spoke, but 
Planchot — whose kindly nature was a good deal 
stirred up — would not suffer so formal a parting. 
“ No, no,” he said, “you mustn’t go off like that 
— you must shake hands with us. You are a good 
fellow, after all! ” 

“ Well, I believe 1 am,” said Calisto modestly, 
as he gave the joiner his hand. “And it is true 
enough,” he added, “that now-a-days good men 
are scarce.” And with the expression of this 
excellent sentiment he took his gun out of the 
corner between the kneading-trough and the wall 
and ran quickly downstairs. Planchot stood at 
the stair head rubbing his hand against his breeches 
to dry it. Calisto’s touch had left it damp and 
cold. 


/ 


CHAPTER X. 

! the garden of hell. 

Everybody in the house of the Rue de Bre- 
[ tagne was up and about when Monsieur Calisto 
, reached there on his return from Planchot’s. As 
' no one had slept, every body had risen early that 

[ 

r Adeline had been the first to be astir. When 

I she had seen the daylight gleaming white through 
I the crack of the shutters she had risen very quietly 
and had opened the window and pushed the shut- 
( ters ajar. But the moment that she looked out 

^ she could not help calling: “Lazuli! Lazuli! 

r Come here and look! There’s a garden out here 

^ with big trees! ” And through the open window 

' there came a sweet breath of fresh air and the 

chirping of birds. 

“Hush! hush!” said Lazuli. “And don’t 
^ you remember they told us never to open the 
' shutters } ” 

i But Lazuli had her own good share of womanly 

- curiosity and wanted to see what was to be seen. 

In a moment she was standing beside Adeline and 
' looking out with her. “ What a delightful gar- 

I den!” she exclaimed. And then prudence got 

' the better of her admiration and she quickly pulled 

' the shutters to. 

But this sudden shutting off of her view was 
not at all to Adeline’s fancy — and the flowers in 

103 


104 


®I)c terror. 


the garden drew her to them as though she were a 
honey-seeking bee. “ Oh,” she cried, drawing a 
long breath, “how I should love to go down 
there! It would be like being home again at the 
Chateau de la Garde. And I long so for the sweet 
fresh air, and for the smell of the plants and of the 
earth 1 Why can’t we go. Lazuli ? It cannot be 
any harm. Clairet is sleeping as sound as a little 
saint. He won’t wake up. Joy and Monsieur 
Calisto certainly will not be out of bed so early. 
Do let us go down. Lazuli! Only a moment 
there would do me so much good! ” 

Lazuli, who never could refuse anything to 
Adeline, yielded. For a moment she bent over 
Clairet, to assure herself that he was sleeping 
soundly; then, carefully and noiselessly, she un- 
bolted the door — and together the two women, 
silent as shadows, tip-toed across the great salon 
and so onward to the stately stair. But at the 
head of the stair they started back with cries of 
fright — for coming up it, with his gun on his 
shoulder, was a National Guard ! In another mo- 
ment he stood face to face with them. They 
clung together trembling, almost dead with fear. 

“ Where are you going so early. Mademoiselle 
la Comtessine ? ” asked the soldier with a pro- 
found bow. “I beg that you will be prudent. 
There is a dangerous dampness in the morning 
air.” And then they knew that it was Monsieur 
Calisto, and not really a soldier at all. 

“We are going down to walk in the garden,” 
Lazuli explained when she had got her breath a 
little. “Mademoiselle Adeline said that it made 
her think of her own garden in the Chateau de la 
Garde, and that a walk in it would do her ever so 
much good. But if you think we had better not 
go, why, of course ” 


(Jl)c (Sarbcn of 


105 


“Heaven forbid that I should oppose the 
slightest desire of Mademoiselle la Comtessine!” 
exclaimed Calisto, as he made a still lower bow. 
“1 would like to accompany you — but, as you 
perceive, these clothes are utterly unsuitable. 1 
must tell you, though, that 1 have just come from 
the Planchots. 1 came back as quickly as 1 could 
so as to give you news of them. Thanks be to 
God, they are quite out of danger. 1 told them 
that you were in my house, and that they could 
come to you here at their own pleasure. I told 
them that here you were absolutely safe ; that 
they alone possessed the secret of your hiding- 
place, and that Surto and La Jacarasse never would 
think of looking for you here. But I must not de- 
tain you any longer now. Here is the door to the 
garden — go and enjoy your walk. I will change 
these abominable clothes, and then — by your per- 
mission — 1 will join you. 1 will repeat to you my 
entire conversation with the Planchots, and will 
tell you what we have arranged to do for your 
good.” 

“Oh how kind you are to us, Monsieur Ca- 
listo!” said Adeline. “I thank you with all my 
heart! ” 

Calisto bowed deeply again before the Com- 
tessine, and his soul thrilled with pleasure as he 
received her thanks. He could not take his eyes 
off her as she went down into the garden leaning 
on Lazuli’s arm. 

“ Is that you so early. Monsieur Calisto ? ” Joy 
called from her kitchen. 

“Yes, Joy. I had to go out on business — 
most pressing business. But you, what are you 
doing up so much earlier than usual 

“ Oh, Monsieur Calisto,” Joy answered, coming 
out and joining him, “ I’m so dreadfully upset! ” 


io6 


(in)e ® terror. 


“ Why whafs the matter, Joy ? *’ 

“Tell me,” she said, lowering her voice and 
coming close to him, “what have you done 
with that long knife ? The big knife you promised 
me for my kitchen when the bad days were done.” 

“Oh, that knife. Ha, ha!” Calisto answered, 
laughing on only one side of his mouth. “ Why, 
my poor Joy, I've lost it. It never will be yours ! ” 
“You have lost it 

“Yes, I’ve lost it — and may 1 be spanked if I 
know how! 1 must have dropped it somewhere. 
Perhaps in the ruins of the Bastille. Who knows ?” 
“You are quite sure of that ? ” 

‘ ‘ Of course I’m sure. Y esterday when 1 changed 
my clothes, I saw it was gone — 1 remember saying 
to myself, ‘There now! I’ve lost the knife I prom- 
ised Joy for her kitchen. That's too bad! ’ ” And 
as he said this Calisto left the old woman hurriedly, 
and went into the little room under the stair to 
change his clothes. 

But Joy could not restrain herself from follow- 
ing him and from saying: “ Monsieur Calisto, you 
are not telling the truth! ” 

“ Why am 1 not telling the truth .^” 

“ Because 1, with my own eyes, have seen that 
knife since you say you lost it.” 

“ When did you see it ? ” 

“ Last night, after you had gone to bed. 1 saw 
it — blood-stained, nicked, pointless, and with white 
hairs sticking to the handle! ” 

In the dim light of the dusky room Calisto’s 
eyes shone like live coals as he turned around sud- 
denly. He seized Joy by the arms and shook the 
poor old woman so violently that her head banged 
against the wall. He hissed through his shut teeth 
as he dragged her along and flung her into her 
kitchen. “Never, never, I command you, never 


9 [l)c (Sarbcn of IJell. 


107 


dare speak of that knife again ! If ever you do — 
well — you understand! That’s enough! ” 

He closed the door behind him and went back 
to his dark room, muttering between his teeth: 
“After all, it would only be one more dead body 
in the well! ” 

While all this had been going on, Adeline and 
Lazuli were walking in the garden, which on all 
sides was surrounded by high walls. A small 
door at the rear opened on an alley ; but this door, 
hidden behind a great mass of ivy, never was used 
and was always locked. 

No sooner had she stepped into the garden 
than Adeline was full of delight which she showed 
in every motion. She dropped Lazuli’s arm and 
ran forward leaping and dancing on the grass and 
on the golden fallen leaves like a kid at play. Then, 
quite crazy with delight, she threw her arms around 
the tree trunks, and kissed the leaves of the bushes, 
and plunged her face into a tuft of box, crying out 
joyfully: “Oh, how I love you, how I love you — 
brother of the box trees on my Malemort moun- 
tains! You have the same delicious sharp odour 
as my box in the garden of my dear Chateau de la 
Garde! Oh I love you, I love you!” And she 
kissed the bush and rubbed against it her soft 
rosy cheeks. 

She put out her hand to gather a twig, but 
drew it back again. It seemed to her that she 
might hurt the stiff straight, shining green leaves. 
No, she would not hurt the plant. But she stroked 
it gently, and again she kissed it. And then, turn- 
ing to Lazuli, who stood beside her smiling but 
sympathizing in her happiness, she said: “ If we 
cannot go back to the Planchots before we leave 
for Avignon, we can spend all our time in this 
lovely garden — surely we can. Lazuli?” 


io8 


®Ik terror. 


But it was Monsieur Calisto who answered this 
question. Up above, on the steps leading down 
from the door, he appeared in all the splendour of 
a gold-buttoned saffron silk suit. He bowed deeply 
as he said: “Yes, until the coach starts — or even 
longer. Mademoiselle la Comtessine. If it should 
please you, you can live here for all your life 
long! ” 

“lam deeply obliged to you, Monsieur Calisto,” 
said Adeline, resuming her high-bred air. “ 1 am 
greatly pleased with the garden of Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernede; but our duty is to return to 
the Planchots, and thence take the first coach for 
Avignon.” 

“Heaven preserve you. Mademoiselle, from 
quitting these walls!” exclaimed Calisto, putting 
on a terrified air. “You will be lost! Surto and 
La Jacarasse doubtless will watch Planchot’s house 
in the hope of getting you once more into their 
clutches! ” 

“ But / can go there, ” said Lazuli. “ It is true 
that 1 am only a woman, but I’d like to see a Surto 
or a Jacarasse who could frighten me! If 1 fled 
from them yesterday when you warned us, it 
was not in the least on my own account, but be- 
cause of Mademoiselle Adeline and my little Clai- 
ret. Besides, what could they want with me?” 

“Nothing. There is no reason why you 
should not go to see the Planchots. Only, tor 
the sake of Mademoiselle la Comtessine, you must 
be very cautious. Planchot’s house certainly will 
be watched. You must remember that those 
wretches will try to find out the hiding-place of 
her whom they wish to destroy ?” 

“Oh why, why do they want to destroy me ? 
Oh, why are not Vauclair and Pascalet here?” 
cried Adeline covering her face with her hands. 


®l)e ^arben of ^ell. 


109 


“Reassure yourself, Mademoiselle, /am here 
to protect you and to deliver you from those mon- 
sters. And now with clasped hands and on bended 
knees 1 implore you — as long as Surto and La 
Jacarasse are not chained to the galley benches or 
are not under the executioner’s knife — do not leave 
this place of safety. Stay here as happy, as joy- 
ous, as easy in your mind as if you were in yodr 
own Chateau de la Garde. I was so delighted a 
moment ago when 1 saw you dance across the grass, 
and embrace my trees and kiss my box bushes.” 

“Oh,” said Adeline, blushing as she spoke 
“did you see that. Monsieur Calisto ? It has been 
so long since I have heard the chirping of birds, 
since 1 have seen big trees and plants and grass 
and fresh earth, that it brought back to me my La 
Garde with its great woods and its gardens. It 
made me very glad.” 

“ Your momentary happiness makes me happy, 
Comtessine; and that is why I want you to stay 
here as long as there is danger in your going 
away.” 

“Well, since it is best that we should stay 
here until the coach leaves for Avignon, we will 
stay all day long in this garden, won’t we. Lazuli ? 
But you will go and see our dear good joiner, and 
you must tell his wife to come soon and see us 
here.” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said Calisto. “Only 
remember what I have said about being careful; 
for if unfortunately Surto and La Jacarasse should 
follow you here and find you, you are lost! ” 

While they had been talking, the sun had 
driven away the morning mists, and the tree tops 
and all one side of the garden were in bright sun- 
shine; and this brightness was balm to Adeline’s 
poor bruised heart. 

8 


no 


®l)e ©error. 


Presently, when Monsieur Calisto called to Joy 
to know if breakfast was ready, Adeline called 
out: “ Oh, here, here, here, Joy! Bring it here! ” 

“Certainly it shall be brought here if that 
please you,” said Calisto as he bowed to the Com- 
tessine and begged her pardon for leaving her. 

Joy, standing at the top of the steps, had lis- 
tened to Monsieur Calisto s orders. She made 
no reply. Pale as death, she went off to get the 
breakfast, while Lazuli went to fetch her Clairet. 

Soon the three, Adeline and Lazuli and Clairet, 
were seated on a bench overhung by a mass of 
ivy, and Joy was standing in front of them with a 
silver salver in her hands on which was fresh 
white bread, and a preserve of figs which she had 
made at La Vernede before coming to Paris. 

“Come now,” said Joy who wished to hide 
the fright she had had that morning, “come, 
take plenty of it! Hurry up, my little fellow and 
set a good example! ” 

“Yes, 1 want more,” said Clairet, who already 
was smeared pretty well up to his ears. 

“Yes, darling, you shall have more. Take all 
you can swallow. See how much there is of it! 
You too. Mademoiselle, you have hardly any on your 
plate,” and with her crystal spoon Joy ladled out 
great pieces of melon and pear preserved in fig 
juice. “And you too, Lazuli,” she went on. 
“Don’t be mincing. You can’t eat up all 1 have. 
Why, I made three great caldrons full — and 1 filled 
seven big jars and a big pot besides! ” 

Seated under the great trees, in the gay sun- 
light, all three ate more merrily than they had 
done for a long while past. As she watched them, 
good old Joy began to forget Monsieur Calisto’s 
big knife that had kept her awake all night, and his 
hard treatment of her that morning, and talked on 


®I)e (Satben of ^ell. 


Ill 


about her figs: “ They boiled for fourteen hours,” 
she said, “and over good oak wood with the 
bark on. No fig-wood for me! And I added a 
good handful of sugar to each batch.” 

“ 1 want some more,” struck in Clairet. 

“That’s right, darling. Never be afraid to ask 
for what you want while old Joy’s around. These 
Paris folks sniff at my preserves because they are 
black as blackberries! The fine ladies here make 
their preserves as clear as water — and with about 
as much taste! Don’t talk to me of Paris pre- 
serves! ” 

Little by little her cheerfulness returned to Joy, 
and the knife began to fade out of her mind. 
Fortunately she had not heard Calisto say that she 
would be" only one more dead body in the well. 
The kindly simple old woman, who never saw 
harm in anything, already was smoothing things 
out in her mind and finding good reasons for all 
that had happened. True, Monsieur Calisto had 
pushed her away when she spoke of his knife; 
but that must have been because he did not want 
to tell her that he had been fighting for Monsieur 
le Comte, that he had risked his life to save him. 
Perhaps he had been very near himself to death ! 
And she said in her own mind: “ Kind Monsieur 
Calisto! He would not tell me his troubles for 
fear I should worry over them ” — and Joy, helping 
out her fig-preserve liberally, was her happy- 
hearted self again. Wishing to keep her in this 
bright mood. Lazuli asked with a great show of 
interest: “Tell me, Mise Joy, how do you make 
your preserves ? ” 

“ Oh, of everything good! ” Joy answered. “ In 
the first place I get together the different sorts of 
figs that grow at La Vernede, for they are better 
when they are mixed that way. I get the blacks 


II2 


S^error. 


and the greens and the rosy Madeleines and the 
boujarrotes, and all the rest of them. They must be 
dried, you know, on cane-dryers; and when they 
are dried just enough 1 put them all together in a 
copper caldron on the fire — and I boil them and 
boil them until at last 1 can strain off the juice as 
dark and as clear as the wine of Chateau Neuf du 
Pape. Then into the juice 1 put slices of melon, 
the red kind and the rough-skinned Cavaillon kind; 
and quinces and red pears; and St. John’s apples 
and Paradise apples and slices of Spanish water- 
melon that are crisp and juicy as you bite them ; 
and apricots and peaches ; and at the last I put in 
jujubes. Oh, but they are good, the jujubes! 
They are the best of all! ” 

“I want some jujubes! ” cried Clairet — holding 
out his plate licked as clean as though it had just 
come from the dish-pan. 

And you shall have them, you little darling! ” 
and joy ladled out of her jam-pot the delicacy that 
the little scamp desired. 

“Oh Joy, he’s had more than enough. He’s 
just a little glutton, that’s what Clairet is! Look 
at the mess he’s got his face into. Come, Clairet, 
finish your jujubes and let mama make you clean 
again.’’ 

“I want more jam!” cried Clairet, seizing his 
plate and licking it so that his nose got almost as 
much as his tongue. He was such a funny-look- 
ing little object that the three women laughed so 
heartily that the sparrows who had ventured down 
for crumbs flew away frightened up into the trees. 
But the laughter was a little forced. It was the 
need for tears that made them so ready to laugh — 
and the mirth that came so quickly as quickly 
passed away. 

Adeline’s voice was sad again as she said: 


®l)e ©arben of 


113 


“Then, Lazuli, you will go and see the Planchots 
and 1 will stay here alone. Of course it is right 
for you to go. But I am frightened at the thought 
of being left alone.” 

“ My darling child,” said Lazuli, rising and kiss- 
ing her, “ 1 soon will be back again.” 

But Adeline clung to her, crying: “ Don’t leave 
me, Lazuli! Don’t leave me here alone! ” 

“Mademoiselle must not forget that 1 shall be 
here with her,” said the good Joy, pausing as she 
was carrying away the silver tray. 

“Yes, dear, joy will take good care of you. 
And then there is good kind Monsieur Calisto who 
will take care of you too.” 

But Adeline answered: “1 shall be frightened. 
Let me go with you.” 

“That, you know, is not possible,” Lazuli re- 
plied. “Monsieur Calisto said so — and I am sure 
that he is perfectly right. Suppose we met La 
Jacarasse! ” 

“ Well, at least do not take Clairet. Leave him 
to take care of me. Clairet, you’d like to stay here 
with your Adeline.^” 

“Yes, you’ll stay with Adeline,” said his 
mother. “You’ll stay with her, and I will go to 
the Planchots and get you your pretty little wheel- 
barrow. Won’t that be nice, darling 

“ May I have some more jam 

“ Of course you shall,” said joy, who had come 
back for the rest of the breakfast things. “You 
shall have all you can hold! ” 

“And you’ll be as good as the Pope’s penny 
with its keys criss-cross! You won’t be afraid 
while mama is away, will you.^” said Adeline. 
But Clairet answered timorously: “Yes. Ml be 
afraid of Monsieur Calisto’s big knife that’s all 
over blood.” 


®l)c ® terror. 


114 


“Hush ! ” said Joy, turning pale. “ Hush, dar- 
ling! Don't ever talk about that big knife again ! ” 
And then, turning to the others, Joy continued: 
“ rd better have left that knife alone! This morn- 
ing 1 tried to say a word about it to Monsieur Ca- 
listo — and 1 never saw him in such a rage! His 
eyes got as big as his fist, and his face all changed, 
and he caught me by my arm — which is black and 
blue from his grip — and pushed me into my kitchen 
saying: ‘Never, never speak to me again of that 
knife. If you do — well, 1 say no more!’ 1 never 
saw Monsieur Calisto go on like that. The way 
he looked at me made me all go cold! ” 

“Well,” said Lazuli, “if that’s the way he 
feels about it we’d better hold our tongues.” 

“Yes, Monsieur Calisto is so kind,” said Joy, 
“ that it would be a shame to hurt his feelings.” 

“You hear, Clairet!” said Lazuli. “Remem- 
ber, you’re not to talk about the big knife, espe- 
cially when Monsieur Calisto is around.” 

“ If 1 don’t talk about it you’ll give me some 
more jam F ” 

“Yes, plenty of it,” his mother answered. 
“Only don’t forget that if you speak to Monsieur 
Calisto of his big knife he’ll bleed you — just as the 
butcher on the Place du Grand Paradis at Avignon 
bled the little pig that squealed so loud ! And now 
you are to be a good boy and take care of sister 
Adeline while mama goes for a walk.” And 
with these words Lazuli kissed him and Adeline 
and then set off briskly on her visit to the Plan- 
ch ots. 

But Adeline, being left alone, caught Clairet’s 
little hand in both of hers and clung fast to it as a 
drowning man clings to the plants on the river 
bank. 

“Come, come, Mademoiselle, you must try and 


(^l)c 0 arben of §ell. 


115 


be cheerful,” said Joy. Our little man here must 
be amused while his mother has gone to fetch his 
wheel-barrow. — You’ll be a very, very good boy — 
won’t you, Clairet ? ” 

To this appeal Clairet did not respond. On 
the contrary, he dug his little fists into his eyes 
and evidently was getting ready to cry. 

But Joy understood how to manage children, 
and in a moment — in spite of her seventy years — 
she had caught hold of Clairet’s hands and had 
him dancing around and around with her on the 
gravelled path while she sang: 

Old Nick is ailing, 

He’s complaining to-night. 

Go fetch the blacksmith 
To bleed the old Scratch! 

To cocker him up 
Get three livers of flies, 

And put them to simmer 
In the juice of a stone, 

The fat of a nail-head, 

And five nice axe-brains! 

Round and round the old woman and the little 
boy danced, one as much a child as the other. 
Clairet got to laughing, and soon began to sing 
with merry old Joy — who never could shut gaiety 
out of her heart for more than a moment at a time. 
Off she started afresh with 

Old Nick is ailing. 

He’s complaining to-night. 

Adeline could not help laughing at this queer 
dance of a very old woman and a very young 
child. This ailing devil, too, who had to be com- 
forted with flies’ livers, was new to her, and was 
so very odd! Never in the world would her 
mother the Marquise have allowed her to hear 
such a coarse peasant’s song. 




CHAPTER XI. 

ADELINE’S NEV/ GOWN. 

“Joy,” said Adeline presently, “suppose we 
^et my new dress and begin to make it out here ? 
Making it in the house would be tiresome, but I 
really shall enjoy working at it out here.” 

“ Certainly, Mademoiselle, it will be very pleas- ^ 
ant here. While you get it, I will fetch a proper 
table, and a chair that will be more comfortable for 
you than this bench. Will you come along with 
us, Clairet, and help get the chair and the table 
and the pretty stuff for the dress of Mademoi- 
selle?” 

But Clairet shook his head. “No,” he said, 

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and 
catch a sparrow.” 

“Very well,” Joy answered. “ Then be a good 
boy and don’t do any mischief.” And turning to 
Adeline she added: “The little darling won’t catch 
a sparrow, but it will be fun for him to try.” 

Together they went into the house; and Clairet, 
left alone, began to try to catch sparrows. But 
the sparrows were not to be caught. As soon as 
he came close to them — fr-r-ou! and they were 
off! Away they flew up into the elms, and into 
the great mass of ivy clinging to the wall and 
dropping its swaying branches down so as almost 
to hide the little green door. However. Clairet 
was of a determined nature and he went after 

ii6 


^bcline's Nero Croton. 


117 


them. Mounting on the stone bench and getting 
foothold and handhold in the thick branches, he 
started to climb up into the ivy. But he did not 
gel up very high before he stopped short. This 
was not because he was afraid of falling, for a 
child of his age does not reason with danger, but 
because he had made an interesting discovery. 
Caught on a nail in the wall and completely cov- 
ered by the ivy, he had found a great rusty key — 
that had been hanging there for who knows how 
many years ? Possibly some old gardener, long 
dead, had hung it there. Possibly the dead Comte 
de la Vernede had known about it. Certainly no 
one then alive knew anything about it at all. 

Clairet was charmed at finding so interesting a 
plaything, and was about to possess himself of it 
when he heard footsteps approaching on the grav- 
elled walk. He turned quickly, clinging fast to 
the ivy, to see who was coming. Perhaps it was 
some one who would scold him, he thought. 
When he saw that the person coming along the 
walk was Monsieur Calisto, his fear of a scolding 
was forgotten in his fear of Calisto’s knife. Flat- 
tening himself against the ivy, he did not stir. 

Calisto was surprised at finding the garden de- 
serted. But a few minutes before he had heard 
Clairefs laughter and old Joy’s voice singing, 
“Old Nick is ailing.” He searched through the 
shrubbery, and presently came close to the stone 
bench over which the ivy hung. At this, Clairet, 
believing himself discovered, fell to shrieking at 
the top of his voice and to crying out : “I’m afraid ! 
fm afraid! ” 

“Oh, there you are, you little scamp!” said 
Calisto. But he spoke gently, and added: “Take 
care, little man, or you’ll have a fall. Let me help 
you down.” 


ii8 


®l}e @^error. 


But Clairet only yelled the louder: “ I’m afraid ! 
Tm afraid! I don’t want you to help me down — 
I’m afraid of your big knife! ” 

There was an ugly look in Calisto’s black eyes, 
but he still spoke gently as he answered: “But 
see, I haven’t any big knife, Clairet. Come, let me 
help you down.” 

“ Yes, you have a big knife. I’ve seen it. It 
was all over blood. You’ll bleed me with it just 
as you bled the nobleman.” 

Calisto’s head began to turn. He seemed to 
feel himself blinded again by a spurt of hot blood 
in his face, as when he had plunged his knife into 
the throat of the Count his master. He lost his 
presence of mind. It seemed to him as though all 
the plants, all the trees, even the very stones of the 
walls, shrieked out that he had murdered his mas- 
ter. Fright overcame him. As though pursued 
by furies he ran swiftly up the garden path and 
into the house and sought shelter in his own room. 
Then, bolting and barring the door behind him, 
and catching his head in his hands, he remained 
for some moments without thinking, without 
reasoning. A shuddering dread possessed him. 
There was a great roaring in his ears. He seemed 
to see joy. Lazuli, Adeline, Clairet, all surrounding 
him and all pointing their fingers at him. The 
little Comtessine Adeline openly denounced him 
as a murderer! The bloody knife — would every 
one he met forever talk of that bloody knife! All 
was lost! Where could he hide himself! All his 
fortune would be taken from him. He saw him- 
self thrown into a black prison. He saw himself 
skinned alive, broken on the wheel, drawn and 
quartered! His shuddering continued. Between 
his lean fingers there dripped hot tears. With his 
mind still in a whirl he tried to imagine how joy 


^bcline's Nctu 0otBn. 


119 


had discovered his crime. Some one must have 
told her — but who ? It could not have been Surto, 
it could not have been La Jacarasse— Joy had seen 
neither of them. But yet Joy certainly had seen 
the knife. They all must have seen it — even the 
child. How horrible it was to have the child talk- 
ing to him about bleeding the nobleman! If it 
were only old Joy and the child, that would not 
be much. But there were four of them — four 
more dead bodies. And one of them was Adeline, 
whom he was to marry! But it was better to lose 
the marriage than to lose everything — his marriage, 
his fortune and his head! Yes, if there were no 
other way out of it for him he must take that way. 
Here was his own quiet garden. It was a good 
place for unknown graves! 

Gradually he grew calmer, and as his thrilling 
dread left him he began to ask himself if his wits 
were not scattered by his fears. Was it certain 
that his crime was known Yet if it were not, 
how could the child have said what he did ? He 
could only have repeated what he had heard. And 
as he remembered Clairet’s words he shuddered 
again, as he felt again the spurt of hot blood in his 
face — and then there possessed him a still but 
furious rage. He saw himself with another and a 
better knife ; a knife that would not nick nor lose 
its point! He saw himself going softly, in the 
dead of night, from one room to another and 
plunging his knife into four sleeping figures — 
smothering any cries under the pillows, and stab- 
bing and stabbing again ! He saw himself drag- 
ging the bodies down into the garden, and piling 
them into a heap — oh, so great a heap! And then 
he saw himself digging a grave — a deep, deep 
grave, where dogs could not get at them and 
where they would lie still for-evermore! And he 


120 


QL[)t (terror. 


was in the midst of this horrible work when up 
came from the garden the gay air: 

Old Nick is ailing, 

He’s complaining to-night. 

The jolly little song suddenly calmed him. Cer- 
tainly they could not be afraid of him, he thought 
— why, the Comtessine herself was singing. Oh, 
the sweet voice! No, no, it would be utterly im- 
possible for them to sing and dance that way if 
they thought that he had killed his master. And 
with a long sigh he raised himself to his feet — with 
something of the feeling of a criminal to whom on 
the very scaffold is given a reprieve. Still taking 
long breaths, he bathed his face in cool water, 
powdered himself afresh, and pulled out the folds 
of his saffron-coloured coat. And his blood flowed 
more and more evenly as the singing continued 
and through the shutters came to him the gayly 
absurd words. “I must understand all this,” he 
said to himself, “ I must get to the bottom of the 
whole thing. If they think Tm a murdering mon- 
ster, they must say so. Then, to the last of them, 
they must die! But no; it is impossible that they 
can know anything. Joy would have to be a won- 
derfully clever witch to have divined all this — and 
that, pecaire! she certainly is not.” 

He came out of his room and tripped down the 
stairs on his toes, his light shoes creaking slightly, 
while he arranged his face in an agreeable smile. 
In the open doorway he stopped for a moment to 
reassure himself by a glance about the garden. He 
saw joy and Adeline seated in front of a table lit- 
tered with some black stuff which they were turn- 
ing and twisting, and beside them a wicker work- 
basket. Clairet, running about here and there, was 
doing his best to catch the sparrows — and the spar- 
rows, with their fr-r-ou! were flying up into the 


^beline’s Neto ©oton. 


I2I 


low branches and there with heads on one side 
were glancing down at him impudently with their 
bright black eyes. At that time of day the garden 
was full of the pleasant autumn sunshine that is 
not too hot as it sifts through the reddening leaves 
of the trees. 

It all was very serene and comforting; and 
Monsieur Calisto, satisfied that his face was 
smoothed out sufficiently, opened the glass door 
and stepped forth, trying to look like a little mar- 
quis as he made a deep bow. He went down the 
steps into the garden, and when he was nine paces 
from the Comtessine he bowed again. Adeline 
smiled politely and greeted him with a slight nod. 
But the fine gentleman, coming close to her, dared 
to kiss her hand. To this act of politeness — which 
made her desire to wash her hand instantly — she 
could not but submit ; but she endeavoured to ignore 
it by catching up the dress-stuff and beginning to 
measure it while Joy took the folds from her so 
that they should not trail on the ground. 

“Are you going to make a dress for yourself, 
Joy.?” Monsieur Calisto asked, taking hold of the 
stuff and feeling it. 

“ Oh no, Monsieur Calisto, I’m too old to wear 
such stuff. It is to be a dress for Mademoiselle la 
Comtessine.” 

“What, Mademoiselle,” asked the would-be 
nobleman, “you will wear woollen ? There is no 
silk, to my mind, rich or handsome enough for 
you! ” 

Adeline smiled as she answered: “1 am not 
making this dress for the King’s Court. It will be 
for me to wear on the journey to Avignon in the 
coach.” 

“Mademoiselle la Comtessine,” said Calisto 
with a still deeper bow, “you would not speak to 


122 


®l)e terror. 


me of leaving for Avignon did you know the pain 
it gave me. Do you not perceive the danger ?” 

Joy, who had had enough of dismal things, 
here broke in with: “Look, Monsieur Calisto, see 
what pretty lace this is to go on the dress. 1 don’t 
believe many young ladies have anything prettier! ” 

But Adeline, who wished to show plainly that 
she was determined to leave, j)aid no attention to 
Joy’s interruption. 

“1 am not afraid. Monsieur Calisto,” she an- 
swered, “and 1 intend to leave with Lazuli and 
Clairet by the very first coach.” 

“Mademoiselle, 1 implore you,” said Calisto, 
“since you insist upon going, that at least you 
will permit me to accompany you. But why not 
start later for Avignon, in the company of Monsieur 
le Comte de la Vernede ? In some good day soon, 

1 certainly shall find him. In his company, and in 
that of the Marquis your father and the Marquise 
your mother — whom we also soon will find — we 
should have a charming journey. Moreover, we 
would travel altogether in our own carriages — not 
in that wretched old coach along with the com- 
mon herd.” 

“May 1 go too in the pretty carriage?” put in 
Clairet who was not afraid of Calisto now that he 
had Adeline and Joy at hand. 

“Yes, certainly,” Calisto answered, stroking 
the child’s cheeks with the tip of his finger. “If 
you will be a very good boy, and will not be afraid 
any more of Monsieur Calisto, you shall rid^in the 
pretty carriage with Mademoiselle Adeline and 
Mama Lazuli.” 

“ I’m not afraid of Monsieur Calisto now,” said 
Clairet stoutly. 

“And why are you no longer afraid of me ?” 

“ Because you’ll put me in the pretty carriage.” 


^belirte’s Netu 0otrjn. 


123 


“But why did you say this morning that I 
would bleed you like the nobleman ? What no- 
bleman were you talking about?” 

“ Why, the pig they bled.” 

“ What pig ? When did they bleed him ?” 

“On the Place du Grand Paradis. Don’t you 
know the butcher that bleeds pigs with his big 
knife ? ” 

“If it was a pig that was bled, why did you 
say the nobleman ? ” 

“Sergeant Berigot at Avignon told me that 
pigs were noblemen.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because,” Clairet answered conclusively, 
“they are all dressed in silk.” 

“Oh good gracious!” cried Joy. “Did you 
ever hear the like of that! Talk of children not 
noticing things! Lord! one must be careful what 
one says before them if a secret is to be kept! ” 

Adeline broke out into a gay laugh at this ex- 
planation; while Calisto took a long free breath 
again — being thus assured that his crime was not 
discovered, and thus seeing all his fears go off in 
smoke. He gave Clairet a hearty kiss; and then, 
putting his hand in his pocket and drawing out a 
pretty gold box, he opened the box and said : “See 
here, little man ! Come and fish for a sugar-plum ! ” 

Clairet did not need to be twice asked. He 
fished out his sugar-plum, and instantly began to 
suck it and to lick his fingers. 

“I should like to know what good little boys 
say when they are given a sugar-plum ? ” some 
one called from the steps. It was Lazuli — who had 
returned from the Planchots, and who had been 
watching for a moment through the glass door. 

Clairet hurriedly took his fingers out of his 
mouth, and said, speaking very loud so that his 


124 


terror. 


mother could hear him: “Thank you, Monsieur 
Calisto.” 

But no one paid any attention to Clairet’s po- 
liteness. They all turned toward Lazuli, into 
whose arms Adeline threw herself as though they 
had been separated for an age: “ Lazuli! Lazuli! ” 
she cried. “ How glad 1 am that you have come 
back again! But 1 knew you would not leave 
me! ” 

“I love you as my own child, my darling,” 
Lazuli answered. “ 1 never will leave you! ” 

“And what of the Planchots.?” Adeline went 
on. “ Planchot s poor wife must be ill with it all! 
And to think that their troubles came through me! 
That makes me miserable! ” 

“Well, well, don’t set your blood on fire, my 
pretty one,” Lazuli answered. “The Planchots 
are not so dreadfully upset by what happened last 
night. As to the good woman, she feels so at 
her ease since Monsieur Calisto’s kind visit, and 
since she has seen me, that she wanted to come 
right straight back with me to see you. But she 
gave that up, because she knew that it would not 
do for us to come together. In the Rue Saint- 
Antoine I fancied that I saw La Jacarasse following 
me. And so, instead of coming back by the Fau- 
bourg de Gloire and the street of Le Pas de la 
Mule, I twisted and turned in a dozen streets till I 
thought I was lost. And I threw her off my track, 

I am sure.” 

“ And Pascalet ? Have they any news of Pas- 
calet.^^” asked Adeline. 

Monsieur Calisto was bothered by this name 
“Pascalet,” that always was on Adelines lips. 
Who could he be ? It seemed a good moment to 
find out. And so — when the three women were 
seated and busy at their work, and Monsieur Ca- 


^oton. 


125 


listo had talked to Lazuli of the Planchots and told 
her his projects for getting rid of Surto and La 
Jacarasse — he turned to Adeline and said: “ Made- 
moiselle la Comtessine, when 1 have you safe rid 
of the two wretches who seek your life 1 see that 
there still is something more that 1 must do to 
ease your heart. I have understood — forgive me 
for speaking of it — 1 have understood from what 
you say that there is a little bond of friendship, 1 
will not venture to say love, between you and the 
Pascalet of whom you speak so often. Now your 
Pascalet must be brought back to you, and I will 
be the first one to go a^ many leagues as you 
choose to send me so that 1 may find him for 
you.” 

“Oh, Monsieur Calisto,” Adeline answered, 
while her cheeks grew very rosy, “it will not be 
necessary to go and look for him, he surely 
will return. But I will not hide from you that 
though he is but the son of a poor peasant, no one 
can take his place, were he prince or noble, in the 
heart of the Comtessine Adeline d’Ambrun ! ” 

“ And suppose he never returns ?” said Calisto, 
to whom Adeline’s words were as nettles stinging 
his face. 

•' ‘ If he never returns, ” Adeline answered gravely 
and simply, “I shall take the veil in a convent. 
No love but the love for Pascalet and the love for 
my God will ever enter my heart.” 

“Ha, ha!” laughed Calisto — but it was not a 
merry laugh. “Those are the pretty oaths one 
swears when one is sixteen years old. Later 
comes the age of reason. But I would not hurt 
your feelings for all the world, much less on such 
a subject, Comtessine. In everything I am your 
most obedient servant.” And Monsieur Calisto 
fairly was driven into silence, so strongly was he 
9 


126 


QL\)C terror. 


impressed by the firm and decided tone of the 
young girl. He bowed deeply three times, and 
began to back away. 

Adeline, who was kindness itself, felt that per- 
haps she had spoken a little too sharply to Mon- 
sieur Calisto. And so — to mark not her regret at 
having spoken, but her regret at having been 
obliged, in spite of herself, to speak so positively 
— she gave him her hand to kiss. 

As Monsieur Calisto entered the house, his 
head was in a whirl. Adeline’s repulse had hurt 
him, but there was rare delight in the thought that 
of her own free will she had permitted him to kiss 
her hand. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE FAMINE IN AVIGNON. 

Being left to themselves, the three women de- 
voted their minds to the making of the frock. 

If it was me,” said Joy, “ I would make it 
with a fine full cape, such as we wear in Languedoc 
— a camparolo, you know.” 

‘‘She is too young for that,” said Lazuli. 
“ Camparolos are only for old women or for coun- 
try folks down there.” 

“ Then let us make a lace cape. Nothing but 
lace.” 

“That would be much better,” said Lazuli. 
“ Which will you have, Adeline, the lace standing 
up or falling down ? ” 

“just as you please,” Adeline answered. 
“ Whichever way you make it, I shall be sure to 
like it.” 

“ And in one way it makes no difference how 
we make it,” said Lazuli. “Whatever she puts 
on seems to be the very thing that she ought to 
wear.” And then they settled down to their work 
seriously, and Clairet ran after the sparrows, and 
the time went swiftly by. 

“If we keep on at this rate,” said Joy, when 
they had been working an hour or so, “ the dress 
will be all done in three days.” 

“Indeed it must be,” said Lazuli, “for we 

127 


128 


®I)e terror. 


must take the coach that starts four days from 
now.” 

“ Four days! ” exclaimed Adeline. “ Must we 
wait so long a time ? ” 

“ So soon !” said Joy. “Oh howl shall hate 
being alone in this house when you all are gone. 
Since Monsieur le Comte no longer is here 1 can 
not help feeling frightened sometimes. You can 
see for yourselves that Monsieur Calisto is of the 
dough that makes good bread ; you can see what 
good care he takes of me. But then he is so little 
at home. Suppose people should come here while 
he is out, what should 1 do ? Of course, 1 keep 
the door locked; and 1 never open the shutters 
even a crack, so that the house looks as though 
nobody lived in it. But there are plenty of eyes 
to see Monsieur Calisto coming and going, and 
plenty of chatterboxes to talk about it, and plenty 
of wretches — ready for every wickedness — to put 
to account what other folks see and hear. 1 do 
wish that you were not going. Anyhow, you 
had better wait for the next coach.” 

“Heaven keep me from that !” cried Lazuli, 
flinging up her hands above her head. “ What 
would my Vauclair think if we did not pass him 
on the way and did not meet him in Avignon 
when he comes with the Battalion.” 

“ Vauclair is a sensible man, and he would say 
you had done just right. He would understand 
that there is more danger for Mademoiselle Adeline 
there in Avignon than here in Paris. Suppose 
Surto and La jacarasse should go back to Avignon ? 
Suppose they should find out where Mademoiselle 
was hidden there ? 1 can tell you, it would be 

‘ Look out for Jourdan Chop-head ! ’ then ! ” 

As she heard this sinister name a shiver ran 
down Adeline’s spine. “ Who is he, this Jourdan 


(^l)e iratttine in ^nignon. 


129 


Chop-head?” she asked, and she let her sewing 
fall to the ground. 

“What, Mademoiselle never has heard of 
Jourdan Chop-head?” said joy in tones of sur- 
prise. 

“ Never,” Adeline answered. “ Who is he ? ” 

As a person possessed of superior knowledge, 
Joy drew herself up a little. “ Well, 1 can tell you, 
for I have seen him myself. And it was this way. 
You see, two years ago last March we were in 
Avignon. It was the famine year — ’89. You 
must remember it. Lazuli ?” 

“ No,” Lazuli answered. “ I was in Malaucene 
in the famine year. It was just after the famine 
that we came to Avignon to live.” 

“ Well, 1 was in Avignon right in the thick of 
it. You see, every year we used to go in from La 
V ernede for Easter. Y ou know how fcautifully the 
churches are dressed at Easter, and what splendid 
preaching there always is. And aren’t the pro- 
cessions of the black penitents beautiful ? My, but 
it all is fine! But that isn’t what 1 started to tell 
you about. 

‘ ‘ Well, that year we started in from our chateau, 
close by Aramon, just as usual; but when we 
crossed the bridge and our carriage came to the 
Porte de I’Oulle the gate was shut. One of the 
footmen pounded away at it, but it stayed shut 
just the same. He kept on pounding, and calling 
that it was Monsieur le Comte de la Vernede; and 
then the gate-keeper looked out of the little upper 
window and said that his orders were not to open 
that gate to anybody at all. He said that the 
peasants of Montfavet were all starving and were 
all coming to the city to do dreadful things, and 
that the Vice Legate’s orders were to keep the 
gates shut against every one. And then he snapped 


130 


®lie Petrov. 


to the little window on our noses — and there we 
were! Then we went to the Porte Saint Roch, 
and the gate-keeper sang the same tune ; and to the 
Porte Limbert, and it was the same again. I heard 
Monsieur Calisto, who was inside the carriage with 
Monsieur le Comte, cry out against this insolence. 
And well he might. Just fancy their stopping 
the carriage of Monsieur le Comte de la Vernede! 
But Monsieur le Comte kept his temper and gave 
the order to drive on to the other gates. ‘ And if 
we don't get in at one of them,’ he said, ‘ we will 
drive back to Aramon again.’ 

“ Well, we kept on to the next gate, the Porte 
Saint Lazare. But there things were very different 
indeed. The nearer we got to it the more people 
crowded the way — and such a lot of draggled 
wretches you never saw! They were the starving 
peasants, come with wallets on their backs to 
Avignon to get food. After a fashion, most of 
them were armed. Some had pitchforks, some 
scythes, some just bars from the wine-presses or 
stakes cut in a hedge. A few had axes, and a very 
few had rusty old guns. 

“ The nearer we got to the gate the thicker the 
crowd got — until at last they pressed so close 
around the carriage that we could not go on. 
And more and more kept coming — pouring out of 
the Sorgues road, and from the roads of the Real- 
panier and the Bousace and the Coupe-d’or. On 
they came, troops and troops of them — all bare- 
footed, all with hunger-pinched faces, all in rags — 
men, women and children : the gauntest, leanest, 
hungriest looking things you ever saw! Their 
eyes were starting out of their heads. Their bones 
fairly were sticking out of their tight-drawn skins. 
They were no better than dressed up skeletons, 
and most of them were so weak that they scarcely 


®I)e i^amine in ^t3i9n0n. 


131 


could keep on their feet. And the way they all 
glared at us gave me gooseflesh. 

“Some of them were tearing up dandelions or 
pulling clover blossoms and eating them — their 
mouths all flecked with green foam; and 1 saw 
children climbing up into the hedges after the 
young shoots of the aubepine and eating them. 
They were eating even the thistle roots. 1 could 
hear all around me the crunching of their jaws. 

“ Suddenly I saw standing in front of the closed 
gate a man as red as a berry — a short, thickset 
man wearing a cocked hat and flourishing a big 
sabre in his hand. He was talking to the gate- 
keeper, who was looking out from the little upper 
window just as the man had looked out at us at 
the Porte de I’Oulle. No doubt he had said that 
the gate could not be opened. But the thickset 
man said back to him that if he didn’t open it off 
his head would come in five minutes! And when 
he heard that, and saw the great crowd, he got 
frightened — and in another moment crick-crack 
went the lock, and the door was opened wide. 
It was Jourdan Chop-head who had been talking 
to the gate-keeper. Right there he showed him- 
self to be a masterful man ! 

‘ ‘ Then what a push and rush there was ! It was 
just like when you tip up a big narrow-mouthed 
jar and everything in it chokes for a moment in 
the neck and then comes o.ut with a gurgling whiz. 
It was just like that that those hungry yelling peo- 
ple squeezed into the gullet of the Porte Saint 
Lazare, and stuck there for a minute, and then 
went pouring into the town. 

“ We drove in after them, and kept on behind 
them, for they were heading for the Place de 
I'Horloge, and so were we. Jourdan Chop-head 
was leading them. I could see him plainly on 


132 


(terror. 


ahead, wearing his cocked hat and flourishing his 
sword. And he started the cry that they all took 
up: ‘To the Vice Legate! To the Vice Legate!’ 
And so on they went until they came in front of 
the palace, where they began to cry out for bread 
and yelled and snarled like so many starving 
wolves. 

“The Vice Legate, holy man, had warning of 
their coming and his palace was shut against them 
tight. But barred doors were nothing to Jourdan 
Chop-head and his hungry gang. In a moment 
a big beam came from somewhere. And then, 
bang! — and down went the palace doors! As to 
the Papal Guard that ought to have done some- 
thing, the men were off and hidden behind the 
altar saying their prayers! And so in marched 
Jourdan Chop-head, with the riff-raff at his heels, 
and he never stopped until he stood right in front 
of the Vice Legate and never took off his cocked 
hat at all. Right under the holy man’s nose he 
swung his sabre, and roared out of his bull mouth: 

‘ Bread ! Give the starving bread ! ’ 

“ The good Legate’s teeth fairly chattered, and 
he flung up his arms. ‘ But, my good people,’ he 
said, ‘ 1 have no bread here. Go find it where you 
can.’ Well, that was as good as telling them they 
could go and take what they wanted. They asked 
for nothing better than just that, jourdan Chop- 
head waved his sabre over his head and cried: 

‘ To the granaries of Monsieur de Comines! ’ 

“Everybody knew what that meant. Mon- 
sieur de Comines — he was one of the consuls of 
the town, you remember — was a sharp man who 
knew what must come in a hard winter following 
a bad harvest. He had bought all the grain from 
the whole country roundabout. His granaries 
were jammed with it. Already he was selling it 


^[)c iTamine in ^nignon. 


133 


at such a price as never was. Why, in Avignon 
that spring black bread was costing fourteen patas 
the pound ! 

“Well, the price of bread in Avignon went 
down that day! Headed by Jourdan Chop-head, 
away went the crowd to the granaries of Monsieur 
de Comines, and in a moment his ’scutcheon was 
torn down and thrown into the gutter and his 
doors were smashed in. In another moment the 
hungry people' were inside the granary — filling 
their wallets and their bags, and tossing the grain 
by the bushel out of the windows to those who 
were waiting outside. In a twinkling the great 
grain heaps had melted away until not a handful 
was left. Yet a good half of it was lost — spilled 
on the stairs, in the passages, trampled down in 
the mud outside. 

“When the granary was empty Jourdan stuck 
his head out of the window and cried: ‘Now for 
the Augustinesl’ — and down he came and got to 
the head of the crowd and led it to the convent of 
the Augustines, off at the other end of the town. 
There the same game was played over again. The 
poor monks had laid in their provision of grain for 
a whole year. In five minutes it was gone! It did 
them no good to scream, to beg, to flourish out 
their curses. Their grain-heaps melted away like 
those of Monsieur de Comines — going into the 
bags of the Montfavet peasants and of the Avi- 
gnon rabble that had come into the stealing with a 
will! Some of the people were so hungry that 
they fell to eating the raw wheat. It was enough 
to turn your stomach to see their chops covered 
with the white spume. 

“You would have thought that by this time 
the crowd would have been satisfied. Not at all! 
The more they stole the more of them there were 


134 


QL[)c terror. 


and the more they wanted to steal. A score would 
go off with full bags — but a hundred fresh with 
empty bags would take their places, open-throated 
and hungry-mad. And so, when there was noth- 
ing more to be got at the Augustines, Jourdan 
shouted: ‘To the Celestines! ’ ; and away they all 
went at his heels to the Convent of the Celestines 
on the Place des Corps Saints. And there the 
doors were smashed in as at the other granaries, 
and in they went after the grain. 

“ By that time the crowd was made up of the 
very poorest of the poor — of those who had been 
eating the grain by handsful because they had not 
even bags in which to carry it away. But they 
too wanted to get off with their shares, and 
presently a woman showed them how it could 
be done. The slut pulled her smock off over her 
head and by knotting it at the neck made a bag of 
it, and this she filled with grain and threw ovei 
her shoulder, and so with only her petticoat flap- 
ping about her went marching off! That was 
enough to set the fashion to the other women; 
and the men pulled off their breeches and tied 
knots in the legs, and so had grain bags too. 
The streets presently were filled with half naked 
wretches carrying their stealings home. 

“ But before all the grain was gone the monks 
woke up to a way of meeting this trick with a 
trick of their own. Running into their convent 
they came out again with knives and razors and 
sickles and all the sharp things they could lay their 
hands on; and then, no sooner did a man or a 
woman get one of their bags up on their shoulders 
than s-s-s-s! went a knife into it — and all the good 
yellow grain poured out on the ground! Things 
went on like that at the Celestines until nightfall; 
and then Jourdan Chop-head ordered off his people 


®l)e iTaminc in ^tiignon. 


135 


because he was promised that bread should be 
served out to the hungry on the Place Pignotte the 
next day. And so there was quiet that night in 
Avignon — for even those who had not carried off 
any grain at least had filled their bellies with a 
good meal.” 

Joy stopped in her story and nodded her head 
at Adeline, as much as to say: “Well, what do 
you think of Jourdan Chop-head and his doings 
now ? ” 

But Adeline’s answer showed that she was not 
thinking of jourdan Chop-head at all. “Surely it 
was right that those poor people should have 
food,” she said. “They could not be allowed to 
starve.” 

“I don’t see why General Jourdan was called 
‘ Chop-head ’ ” put in Lazuli. 

“I’ve been told,” Joy answered, “that there 
were good reasons for it. It was this same Jour- 
dan who later came up to Paris and with his big 
sabre cut off the head of the Governour of the 
Bastille.” 

“Come, come, Joy,” said Lazuli. “I’ve al- 
ways heard that it was with General Jourdan’s 
sword that the governour’s head was cut off. 
But that’s a long way from saying that General 
Jourdan cut it off himself.” 

“Perhaps you are right. Lazuli. I was only 
told that he cut off the Governour’s head. Maybe 
he didn’t. But it certainly is true that after the 
Governour was dead he kept the sword as one 
keeps a holy relic. And there’s enough against 
him even without that! What do you say to his 
having had murdered before his eyes the sixty- 
three prisoners in the Pope’s Palace at Avignon ? 
Think of it! Sixty-three innocent people — poor 
priests, old men and women, young men and 


136 


Ql\)e (^etrroir. 


women, boys and girls, children^ — murdered be- 
fore his eyes! In vain they cried out to Chop- 
head for mercy. In vain they flung themselves 
before him on their knees. He let them all be 
killed without a thought of pity, and then he had 
their bodies thrown into the tower of La Glaciere. 
Don’t you think that he deserves the name of 
Chop-head for that ? ” 

“ Well, you see,” Lazuli answered, “my Vau- 
clair didn’t tell me that story in just that way. He 
always said that General Jourdan had nothing at 
all to do with those murders of La Glaciere. He 
said that they were the work of some of the 
Avignon people who wanted to square accounts 
for the killing of poor Lescuyer — the good Repub- 
lican, you know, who was killed by the Anti- 
Revolutionists and the Papalists in the church of 
the Cordeliers in broad day. He said that these 
people went to the Pope’s Palace and broke into 
where the prisoners were at night, and then set to 
killing them; and he said most positively that the 
very minute General Jourdan heard what was go- 
ing on he ran to the Palace to stop it, and that he 
did save twelve of the prisoners who certainly 
would have been murdered had he not got there. 
And it is a fact, you know, that when General 
Jourdan was tried for this crime before the National 
Assembly he not only was acquitted but was put 
back again in command of the Avignon National 
Guard.” 

“And so you see, Joy,” Adeline interposed, 
“ he is not so bad as he is said to be, after all.” 

“Mademoiselle la Comtessine,” Joy answered, 
“ I don’t want to seem as though I thought Lazuli 
were saying what isn’t so. But I will say that I 
hope you never will fall into Chop-head’s claws! 
Believe me, you had better stay here in this house 


@^l)e J^amine in ^tjignon. 


137 


quietly — where you are safe and where you will 
be taken good care of — until these bad times have 
passed. Then we’ll all go to Avignon together, 
and we’ll be safe from Chop-head and from all the 
other wretches too. 

“ But dear, dear me! ” Joy added jumping up. 
“ Here I am spending the whole day telling stories 
and forgetting all about my kitchen fire.” And 
away she trotted to the house as fast as she could 

go- 


CHAPTER XIII. 


CALISTO PERFECTS HIS PLANS. 

Meanwhile Monsieur Calisto had put on his 
redplumed hat and his short breeches and his long 
sword and had slipped out of the house and gone 
off on an errand of his own. He was in a hurry, 
and walked rapidly — through the Vieille Rue du 
Temple and the Rue de THomme Arme, and so to 
the tower of Saint Jacques; and there he was 
caught in a drunken crowd clustered about a 
dram-shop door. 

The crowd was trying to string up to a lantern 
a poor old man accused of being an Aristocrat. 
Twice over the rope had broken, and twice over 
they had swung the old man up again. The rope 
had broken for the third time just as Calisto arrived ; 
and the old man was lying on the ground, more 
dead than alive, watching in a dazed sort of way 
the work of making once more the slip knot that 
would squeeze the life out of him. The loafers in 
the dram-shop had come out to see the fun. 

But Calisto, who had no time then for mere 
amusement, pushed his way through the crowd 
and continued his rapid walk — through the Rue 
Tire-Chape and across to the Pont Neuf, and thence 
through a tangle of narrow streets until he came to 
the Rue des Cordeliers. 

This w’as the end of his walk. He turned into 
the doorway of a big house. No. 20, crossed a court- 
138 


Calisto Perfects l)is plans. 


139 


yard so still and quiet that it seemed as though the 
house were deserted, and went on up a dark and 
damp stair. He stopped in front of a door, in 
which was a bulls-eye covered with a red curtain, 
and knocked lightly. From within came an an- 
swer in a woman’s voice: 

“ Citizen, who art thou ? ” 

“lam citizen Calisto. Liberty or Death ! ” 
Without more question, the door was opened 
and Calisto entered an antechamber, furnished only 
with a wooden bench, and passed across it into a 
big room beyond. Heavy dark green curtains cov- 
ered the two windows and made the room dusky. 
The plaster, stained and cracked, in places had 
^ fallen away. The walls were bare, save that in the 
middle of one of them, in large black letters, was 
a single word: 

Death. 

In the middle of the room, at a table littered with 
manuscripts and newspapers and open books and 
having around it more books and papers scattered 
on the floor, a creature was seated — it scarcely 
seemed to be a man — stumpy and thickset and with 
the shoulders of a bear. His head was covered with 
a woman’s cap, drawn low on his forehead and 
down to his ears, tied under his chin by two rum- 
pled strings — all a dirty yellowish white: the head- 
gear that an untidy old woman would wear. From 
under this soiled head dress loomed out a broad 
face as round as the bottom of a bucket, with 
cheeks of so strong a brick-red that even the green- 
ish light coming in through the curtains could not 
soften it. His face, his cravatless bull-neck, his 
stubby hands, his thick fingers with nails bitten to 
the quick, all were loathsome with a foul disease 
that literally was skinning him alive. But when 


140 


®l)c terror. 


he raised his head his eyes plunged into Calisto 
like two knives. And as he shot forth his pene- 
trating glance this man-like thing said sharply: 
“Citizen, make your report.” 

Calisto, straightening himself like a soldier on 
parole, answered : “ Citizen, 1 report that from the 
prison of La Force there went forth yesterday two 
hundred and six Aristocrats.” 

“ How many are dead ?” 

“Two hundred and six are dead.” 

“Good! They have paid to the Nation their 
debt.” 

“Citizen,” continued Calisto, “1 report that 
from the prison of Les Carmes there went forth 
yesterday three hundred and four Aristocrats.” 

“ How many are dead ?” 

“Three hundred and four are dead.” 

“ That is right. ” 

“ Citizen, 1 report that from the prison of the 
Conciergerie there went forth yesterday three hun- 
dred and twelve Aristocrats.” 

“ How many are dead ? ” 

“ Three hundred and ten are dead.” 

“Short by two. Who are alive ” 

“The ci-devant Sombreuil and the Anti-Revo- 
lutionist Cazotte. They were released to their 
children.” 

The man drew a sheet of paper toward him 
and wrote with a pen pressed down so hard that 
it creaked and sputtered: “Death to those who 
delivered up Cazotte and Sombreuil.” Then, 
turning to Calisto again, he said shortly: “Go on 
with your report.” 

“Citizen, I report that from the Abbaye prison 
there went forth yesterday five hundred and four- 
teen aristocrats.” 

The man struck his fist down on the table as 


Calisto perfects l)is plans. 


141 


he corrected Calisto’s statement; “Five hundred 
and fifteen — not five hundred and fourteen.” 

“Thou art right, citizen,” said Calisto. “It 
is I who am mistaken. I did not count in the 
ci-devant Comte de la Vernede whom I with 
my own hand killed with three stabs in the 
throat.” 

“ Very good. How many, then, are dead ? ” 

“ Five hundred and fifteen are dead.” 

“Good, you have done your duty,” and he 
took up his vulture quill and began to write 
again. 

But Calisto interrupted him: “Citizen, I ask 
for an order for the arrest of the ci-devant Marquise 
Adelaide d’Ambrun and the Anti-Revolutionists 
Surto and La Jacarasse, who hide her away from 
the ire of the people.” 

Without answering, the man seized a sheet 
having at its head a single word printed in heavy 
black letters, and with his sputtering pen wrote 
heavily: 

Death. 

Order of arrest is hereby given against the d-devant Mar- 
quise Adelaide d’Ambrun, and against Surto and La Jacarasse, 
her accomplices, who are secreting her from the ire of the 
people. 

This 4th of September, the 2d year of Liberty. 

Marat. 


It was Marat indeed — a tiger in his lair, a scor- 
pion in hiding under his stone! Marat, who was 
fear and terror incarnate; Marat, who at that mo- 
ment had power of life and death over all; Marat, 
who was a king — who was more than a king : a 
tyrant and a despot! 

But if the brave Marseillais had not delivered 


10 


142 


®l)c terror. 


France from another tyrant, if King Capet had not 
been made a prisoner in the tower of the Temple, 
then would that other tyrant, King Capet himself, 
have been in the monster Marat’s place. King 
Capet would have had the power of life and death, 
and his vulture pen would have been signing 
orders of arrest and death warrants. And while 
his death warrants would have been against the 
people and the friends of the people, still the 
soil of France would have been sodden with 
blood. 

Gallant Marseillais! And you, men of the peo- 
ple, who for the Republic’s sake braved powder 
and ball! Will your courage have been in vain } 
The gates of the Temple are shut on the King, but 
Kingship is left outside. The Tyrant is chained, 
but Tyranny roams free! 

The guillotine’s knife and Charlotte Corday’s 
knife will do their work in vain, for there will be 
no change. The King no longer is named Ca- 
ligula, Nero or Capet — but Marat or Robespierre. 

Marat and Robespierre, who call themselves 
the Fathers of the People, have opened their foul 
mouths in blasphemy and have said: “ We desire 
a monarchy, for it is the best form of government. 
The very idea of establishing a Republic is wick- 
edness! ” 

Oh, poor people! Oh, poor Marseillais! Well 
may you cry: ’‘What are you doing with our 
Republic ? Where now is the tree of Liberty, 
grafted with our flesh and watered with our 
blood .? ” 

When Barbaroux and Danton tried to speak 
for the people, the plain honest people, Marat and 
Robespierre decreed their arrest, and they became 
the first martyrs of the Republic. 


Calisto Perfects liis plans. 


143 


I ask of God where he picked up the mud of 
which he fashioned those monsters! 

“Citizen Marat,” said Calisto, as he took the 
order of arrest from Marat’s foul hand, “Salute 
and fraternity! ” 

“Or death!” said Marat, as Calisto turned to 
leave him, settling himself to work again with his 
vulture pen at his endless lists of proscriptions — a 
creature loathsome alike in body and in mind. 

Calisto had come at a quick walk. He went 
away at a run. Plunging down the steps and rush- 
ing across the quiet court-yard, he set off through 
the streets as fast as his legs would carry him to the 
house where Surto and La Jacarasse were living in 
the distant quarter of Les Vieux Chernins. 

But Calisto did not mean to put into immediate 
execution the order of arrest that he carried with 
him. He was not done yet with Surto and La 
Jacarasse. With them he could frighten Adeline, 
could traverse her plan of taking the first coach for 
Avignon — and so could keep her a prisoner until 
he could tame her and make her his wife. When 
all that should be accomplished, Surto and La 
Jacarasse would not only cease to be useful to him 
but would be in his way. Then would be the 
time to let Maraf s order do the rest. 

Afternoon was coming on as he reached the 
Quarter of Les Vieux Chernins and knocked at the 
door to which he had hurried so fast. To his sur- 
prise it was Surto who opened at* his knock. 
“What, you are the housekeeper.^” he said. 
“ Has La Jacarasse put on the breeches for good ? ” 

“ La Jacarasse is out,” Surto answered. “ I’ve 
sent her off you know where.” 

“ But 1 don’t know where.” 

“To the Impasse Guemenee.” 


144 


®l)e ®etr0t. 


“Oh, I understand. And Adeline, what have 
you done with her ? 

“She hasn’t come back, and we haven’t laid 
eyes on her or Lazuli.” 

“ What! you can’t find them ? ” 

“No — and so it’s all to be done over again. 
But La Jacarasse is on the watch. When she 
comes off duty I shall go on — and one way or 
another we'll find out what happened, and who 
peached on us.” And to this Surto added, mean- 
ingly: “You were the only one in the secret, 
Calisto.” 

“ You don’t think 1 let it out, do you ? 1 never 
laid eyes on Lazuli, and 1 haven’t seen Adeline for 
years.” 

“ 1 don’t say it was you. But all this is 
queer.” 

“ But you think they will come back to the 
Planchots ? ” 

“ It’s because I think so that 1 and La Jacarasse 
are on the watch there. We’ll end by getting 
’em in our grip again.” 

“ I think you are going the wrong way about 
it.” 

“Well, how would you go about it.^” said 
Surto as he sat down to listen to what Calisto had 
to say. 

“There is no danger of the Marquise hearing 
us?” 

“Not a bit of it. She hates La Jacarasse like 
poison and ehe don’t stir out of her room there in 
the back of the house. But speak up. It wouldn’t 
matter if she did hear you.” 

“Well, if 1 were you I wouldn’t bother to keep 
watch at Planchot’s. I’d wait quietly through the 
next three days and then I’d be on hand when the 
coach starts for Avignon. That coach is the rat- 


Qlalisto perfecte liis plans. 


145 


trap. There you’ll catch ’em all — Adeline, Lazuli, 
and likely enough Pascalet too.” 

“ Well, now, 1 do believe you’re right, Calisto. 
I never thought of that.” 

“ But if you want any help this time, you can’t 
count on me.” 

“That’s all right, lean manage things alone 
now,” and on Surto's coarsely handsome face there 
was an evil grin. 

“ How are you going to manage alone 

For answer Surto pulled out a paper hidden in 
a jar on a shelf and handed it to Calisto. It was 
very like a paper in Calisto’s own pocket and read: 

Death. 

Order to arrest hereby is given against the ci-devant Com- 
tessine Adeline d’Ambrun, Aristocrat, enemy of the people and 
of the Nation. 

This 4th of September, the 2d year of Liberty. 

Marat. 


Calisto's heart beat hard as he read this order, 
but his look did not change as he handed it back 
to Surto and said with a smile: “That is good. 
Put it away carefully. Some day or other you are 
certain to find her — and when you do find her that 
paper will rid you of her forever.” And as Surto 
turned to put the order back into the jar he added: 
“Is that your strong-box where you keep your 
valuables ? ” 

“Yes,” Surto answered, lowering his voice, 
“ and if s a good one. Who would ever look for 
anything in there ? I’ve got the bill of sale there 
too, the one the Marquis signed for me. And 
then, you see, shut up in a jar that way, there’s 
no danger of fire.” 


146 


®I)e terror. 


“You are perfectly right,’’ said Calisto. “I 
never should have thought of so simple and so 
safe a hiding place. Well, I must be going now. 
Be sure to remember that the coach leaves in three 
days — on the seventh — from the Faubourg de 
Gloire. It starts from the Inn of the Sans-culottes 
at seven o’clock in the morning. Don’t fail to be 
there with your order of arrest. The devil him- 
self would have a hard job of it trying to arrest 
her if once she got away to Avignon.” 

“ Don’t you worry. I’ll be there. I’ll be there 
before daylight and so make sure of not missing 
her,” said Surto as he opened the door. 

They went out together. “ Perhaps I II be 
there too, just to see how things go,” said Calisto; 
and without giving Surto time to answer, he 
turned around and looked at the house and added: 
“ How did you happen to settle down so far from 
everybody in this forlorn hole, anyhow ?” 

“Well, I don’t hardly know myself,” Surto 
answered. “ It was La Jacarasse’s notion to come 
here. She said it was a good place because no- 
body’d notice us and we wouldn’t be bothered 
with neighbours. And then, you see, down in 
the back part of the cellar there’s a well. Wells 
come handy, sometimes. ’Most anybody ’ll keep 
quiet down at the bottom of a well! ” and Surto 
winked. 

“ That’s all true enough, but when both of you 
are out what’s to prevent all the ragamuffins of 
Paris from getting in ? ” 

“ I'm not afraid of ’em. Just you look at this 
door! It looks strong, don’t it ? It is strong, too. 
Well, we don’t lock it — when we go out it’s barred 
on the inside. You see, the Marquise aint paying 
calls much in these days. She stops at home 
steady. And she has my orders to open that door 


Ctalisto perfects l)is plans. 


147 


only when she hears a knock that she knows. 
See here, I’ll show you how it’s done.” And Surto 
went out into the street with Calisto, and closed 
the door behind him. “Now don’t you show,” 
he said. “ The old girl has her notions, and one 
of ’em is that she don’t like to seen.” 

Calisto drew to one side as Surto raised the 
knocker, and bang, bang — bang, bang — bang, 
bang — went three double knocks. 

In a moment the Marquise had the door open. 
Surto entered, and Calisto started off for the Rue 
de Bretagne. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


PEACE IN THE MIDST OF STORM. 

It was late when Calisto got home, and the 
little family had had their mid-day meal; a very 
scanty meal for two of them, for in spite of Joy’s 
dainty cooking Adeline and Lazuli would only 
pick like little birds at all the good things set be- 
fore them. Clairet was not at all like a little bird. 
He ate of everything, and ended by covering him- 
self with fig-jam up to his ears! 

Clairet had been washed, and was at his fa- 
vourite game of chasing sparrows among the trees, 
when they heard Monsieur Calisto come in and 
the door banged to again and locked behind him. 
He did not join them immediately — waiting until 
he had changed his sans-culotte garb for his saffron 
silk suit and had taken a hasty breakfast — but be- 
fore very long he came down into the garden and 
approached the women with his usual three deep 
bows. 

When the talk turned on the trip to Avignon, 
he had less to say against it than in the morning. 
He repeated that there certainly was some danger; 
but he added that if they absolutely were deter- 
mined to leave he would see them" safely started 
on their way. He would put them aboard of the 
coach, he said; and even, if they desired his com- 
pany, would go with them all the way to Avignon 
— or for whatever distance they pleased. He was at 
148 


peace in tl)e iHibst of Storm. 


149 


the orders of Mademoiselle la Comtessine. What 
she asked him to do, he would do. And he 
strutted about like a turkey-cock as he concluded : 
“ 1 will be your cavalier servant, Comtessine, if 
you will permit me to be so.” 

“You are very, very kind, Monsieur Calisto,” 
said Adeline, blushing and looking down. “ 1 
never can forget how kind you have been.” 

“Ah, Mademoiselle,” Calisto answered, em- 
boldened by these gentle words, “ you cannot 
imagine the balm that you lay on my heart.” 
And he strutted more than ever as he added: “ I 
cannot express to you how my head fairly was 
turned by the kiss that you permitted me to gather 
from your rosy fingers.” 

Lazuli burst out laughing. “1 can’t help 
laughing. Monsieur Calisto,” she said, “though 
just now 1 don’t feel much like laughing either. 
If you keep on at that rate the sun will hardly 
have gone down behind the tower of Saint Jacques 
before you will be asking Mademoiselle for her 
hand.” 

“Oh Mise Lazuli,” exclaimed Calisto, taken 
aback at being set down in such fashion, “I know 
too well that Mademoiselle la Comtessine is a rose 
so high placed on the rose-bush that never can I 
reach up to her — unless, indeed, she deign to bend 
down to me.” 

Confused by all this talk, Adeline did not dare 
raise her eyes and sewed away with great dili- 
gence; while Lazuli, seeing that she was much 
embarrassed and wishing to put her at her ease, 
made a joke of the whole matter by saying: 
“ Heavens and earth, Monsieur Calisto, where do 
you find such pretty words ? It is plain you’ve 
been bred up in fine company. My Vauclair never 
talked like that to me when he came a-courting. 


®l)e terror. 


150 


He went straight ahead, he did! We just said we 
loved each other, straight up and down. That’s 
the way poor folks do! It seems that among fine 
folks matters are managed another way!” 

Here Joy put in her word saying: “Well, no 
one ever courted me at all. Perhaps it was be- 
cause 1 was poor and wasn’t pretty. But if any 
man had said niminy-piminy things like that to 
me. I’d have sent him off with a flea in his ear! ” 

Monsieur Calisto shrugged his shoulders and 
pretended to smile in a superior way — as much as 
to say: “ Poor souls! They don’t know anything 
of the manners of good society.” But down in 
his heart he was a good deal worried for fear that 
he had made himself ridiculous. Fortunately for 
him there was a knock at the door just then, and 
instead of answering he said: “Some one is 
knocking, joy.” 

joy left them to go to the door, and there was 
a silence — while each one fell to wondering who 
the visitor could be. Five minutes passed in this 
way — for joy had to climb the steps leading up 
from the garden, and then go down the grand 
stairway to the front door — and then the old 
woman came panting back to them, pale and 
trembling and hardly able to speak. 

“Monsieur, Monsieur Calisto,” she gasped. 
“Come quick, quick! It’s people 1 don’t know. 
It’s people I never saw— a man and a woman. 
And they’re asking if it’s here Mademoiselle Ade- 
line is hidden. I don’t know what to say. I’m 
afraid it’s Surto and La jacarasse. Go speak to 
them. They are waiting at the door. I don t 
dare go back! ” 

As they heard these names of terror, Lazuli 
and Adeline jumped up and causht together their 
sewing materials and ran to hide themselves under 


peace in tl)e illibst of Storm. 15 1 


the thick masses of laurel and box; while Mon- 
sieur Calisto, signing to them to keep hidden, ran 
up the steps as hard as he could go. 

Joy began to cross herself as if she were in a 
bad thunderstorm. Adeline shook from head to 
foot, and Lazuli held Clairet fast so that he should 
not make any noise. All of them looked anxiously 
toward the top of the steps. 

Suddenly they heard voices coming nearer and 
nearer, then the glass door flew open and there 
stood Monsieur Calisto making signs for some one 
to follow him. Who could it be ? they wondered. 
And then Lazuli, catching sight of the visitors, 
cried gladly: “It’s Planchot and his wife!” and 
ran to meet them. 

“Oh the dear old Planchots!” cried Adeline 
dropping everything as she too ran forward to 
welcome them. And old Joy, entirely relieved in 
her mind, clapped her hands as she exclaimed: 
“ What a fool 1 was to make such a mistake — but 
I did have a right to be frightened all the same! ” 
Planchot and his wife could not stop hugging 
and kissing Adeline and Clairet, and even Lazuli 
though they had seen her only that morning. And 
then what a whirl there was of talk! 

“ How frightened you must have been! You 
couldn’t sleep, sure! Oh, you poor dears! Did 
you think of old Planchot at all.?” and then: 
“You must have all you want. Everything we 
have in the house belongs to you all. Ask for 
anything you want. The whole house is yours 
and is always wide open to you! ” 

“How good you are! How kind you are!” 
said Adeline as she embraced Planchot’s wife. 

' And then to soothe the good woman by making 
the best of their troubles she went on: “ No, no, 
we were not so dreadfully frightened, and we 


152 


®l]e error. 


slept pretty well. What worried us most was 
our anxiety about you. How good, how kind 
you are!” But here Clairet broke in. Planchot 
had a little wheel-barrow tucked under his arm, 
and in his longing to get it Clairet caught hold of 
Planchot’s breeches and pulled and pulled. At 
first Planchot took no notice of him, but presently 
he bent down and said: “Well, my little man, 
so nobody is talking to you! Tell me now, have 
you been thinking of us 

“ Yes, indeed. I’ve been thinking of my wheel- 
barrow.” 

“ But weren’t you afraid last night 

“Yes, I was afraid you wouldn’t bring me my 
pretty new wheel-barrow.” 

“Well, here it is. I’ve brought it, you see. 
Tell me, now, don’t you want to come back to 
the house and have nice sweet grapes to eat ? ” 

“Yes,” Clairet answered a little doubtfully. 
“I want to come. But we’ve got nice fig-jam 
here. I like it better than grapes!” and grabbing 
the wheel-barrow he rattled off with it through all 
the garden paths. 

Then they all sat down in a circle and began to 
talk — the women, going at their sewing again, 
about Adeline’s pretty dress; and Calisto and 
Planchot about what had happened the night be- 
fore, and how they should manage to get Adeline 
off to Avignon without danger from Surto or La 
Jacarasse. 

As they talked, Planchot looked around this 
way and that, examining the big house that 
seemed a palace to him. Then he looked at Mon- 
sieur Calisto’s fine silk suit. It all bothered and 
puzzled him. The sans-culotte he had seen that 
very morning seemed entirely too aristocratic now. 
He even began to wonder if a Red, such as he, 


Peace in tl)e illibst of Storm. 


153 


Planchot, had any right to rub shoulders with a 
dandy curled and powdered and pomatumed just 
like the nobility. But he did not care to think too 
much about these matters. They worried him. 

Calisto also had his private thoughts, and as he 
talked to the joiner made his own inward reflections. 
He had been rather shocked at seeing Mademoi- 
selle Adeline, a Comtessine d’Ambrun, embracing 
and kissing Planchot’s wile, and still more shocked 
to see her embrace Planchot. He did not wish 
her to be on such terms with such low people — 
with a dowdy common woman, and with a man 
who wore coarse cloth and unbleached linen and 
hobnailed shoes and smelt of his own pinewood 
shavings, whose hands were as hard as a donkey’s 
hoofs and were full of black cracks, and whose 
thumbs were stoggy and stumpy with broad short 
nails. Then, too, this coarse old fellow was an 
out-and-out sans-culotte. He wanted the death of 
the King, the abolition of the monarchy — perhaps 
even, monster that he was, he wanted a Republic! 
“Ah well,” said Calisto to himself philosophically, 
“ I must have patience with him, as long as 1 can 
make use of him.” 

The two men talked on about how they could 
get rid of Surto and La Jacarasse, but Planchot no- 
ticed that Calisto no longer was as eager as he had 
been to go a-hunting for them. He said that he 
did not know where they lived; that now there 
was no danger for the Comtessine as far as they 
were concerned. In short, Planchot could not 
understand at all what he was after; nor could he 
understand how it was that Monsieur Calisto did 
not know where the two were living. If that 
were so, how had he been able to join forces with 
them when they came to steal Adeline away ? 

Another thing that ruffled the good joiner was 


154 


®I)e terror. 


to hear his little Adeline called Mademoiselle la 
Comtessine by this dandyfied buck. La Com- 
tessine! That was too much! So to show that 
he was a good Red, a follower of Barbaroux and 
Danton, Planchot made a point of saying Citizen 
Calisto, never Monsieur Calisto. Then, when 
Citizen Calisto spoke to him of how uneasy he 
felt about Monsieur le Comte de la Vernede, whom 
the sans-culottes had taken away to prison, Plan- 
chot stared angrily and answered shortly: “All 
the ci-devants are the enemies of the nation and 
only are getting their deserts.” 

However, before they separated, everything 
was arranged for the departure of Lazuli and Ade- 
line at the end of three days in the coach for Avi- 
gnon. In order to make sure that all would go 
well, Planchot already had spoken with the coach- 
man and had engaged three seats; and his wife, 
he said, was getting ready a nice basket of pro- 
visions for the journey. It was settled, finally, 
that the little party should stop on their way to 
the coach at the Planchots’ and get the basket and 
their bundle. 

“Well then, Citizen Calisto, I can count on 
thee to be with them until the coach starts said 
Planchot. 

“You can count on me, Planchot, for that,” 
answered Calisto, “and for more than that. I 
shall be glad to go a part of the way with 
them.” 

“That might be a good thing. Surto and La 
Jacarasse are such cunning scamps that they may 
go and wait for them outside of Paris.” 

“Don’t worry yourself, Planchot. You can 
count on Monsieur Calisto des Sablees to see that 
nothing happens to Mademoiselle la Comtessine 
d’Ambrun — if she will allow me to be her cavalier 


peace in tl)e iHibst of Storm. 


155 


servant.” And as he said this Monsieur Calisto 
turned toward Adeline and made her a deep bow. 

Planchot glared at him sidewise, and was going 
to say something disagreeable — when he realized 
that it was better to hold his tongue. And so, 
after kissing Adeline and Lazuli and Clairet, he 
tucked his wife under his arm and off they went, 
promising to return the next day and the day after 
too. 

-“Be very careful,” said Monsieur Calisto, “that 
Surto and La Jacarasse do not follow you. Should 
they learn that the Comtessine is here, trouble is 
sure to come.” 

“Don’t fret about that,” Planchot answered. 
“When we come back we will do as we did to- 
day — twist and turn and never take the straight 
way. We’ll watch carefully to see if we are fol- 
lowed. Good-bye, good-bye all.” 

“ Well, good-bye until to-morrow,” said Lazuli. 

“ Be sure to come! Oh do come — 1 miss you 
so! ” said Adeline, her eyes filling with tears. 

The door was shut behind them, and then 
Planchot’s wife, who saw that her husband was 
muttering something between his teeth, said to 
him : “It seemed to me that you never said good- 
bye to Monsieur Calisto.” 

''Monsieur, always Monsieur Calisto! Don’t 
you know there are no more monsieurs ? There 
are only citizens and ci-devants. Don’t you dare 
say monsieur again! ” 

“Just as you please. But all the same, you 
never said good-bye as we came away.” 

“That man don’t suit me! He’s double-faced. 
He isn’t plain-spoken and he talks like an Aristo- 
crat.” 

“ How in the world do you know he is double- 
faced ?'* ^ 


®erm. 


156 


“He lied to me. Now a liar is a robber, and 
a robber is a murderer.” 

“Oh, hush, Planchot, do hush! You think 
everybody you see is an Aristocrat. ” 

“I see what 1 see, and I’m no donkey. Peo- 
ple are very much mistaken if they take me for 
one.” 

“Do speak out. What do you mean 

“I mean that that Calisto told a lie when he 
said he didn’t know where Surto and La Jacarasse 
were living.” 

“ But suppose he really don’t know ” 

“ He does know. Anyone who is thick enough 
with murderers to promise to help them knows 
where they live. They came all together from 
somewheres last night when they knocked me 
down in my own workshop. There was as clever 
an understanding between them as there is between 
pickpockets at a fair! Only this morning you saw 
how hot he was that he and I should get hold of 
those two and do for them. And now all that’s 
over and he’s quite cooled down. He don’t know 
where they are! He don’t know where they live! 
Now I ask you if it is possible to believe all that 
stuff There is something behind it all. If I was 
told they were all banded together for mischief 
I’d believe it — and what’s more, I believe it any- 
way! ” 

“Come now, come now, my old man, don’t 
get your dander up. Likely you’re mistaken.” 

“ 1 wish 1 was mistaken, wife. But you know 
I keep my eyes open and I’ve never yet taken a 
magpie for a crow.” 

“I don’t deny it. AH the same, it’s foolish to 
believe that every one is a scamp. Now this Mon- 
sieur Calisto ” 

“ Monsieur again! ” 


JJcacc in tl)e iJIibst of Storm. 


157 


No, I made a mistake. I meant to say Citizen. 
You see, Citizen Calisto is young, and I think he’s 
in love with the girl.” 

“Then it’s to please her, you mean, that he 
plays at the Aristocrat and drawls out in full 
“Mademoiselle la Comtessine.’ ” 

“Yes, that is what 1 think.” 

“ And is it to please her that he lied to me ? ” 

“ How do you know he lied ? ” 

“You are a pig-headed old woman! ” 

“You are an obstinate old mule! ” 

And so they disputed through the whole of their 
walk home. 

The next day, early, Planchot’s wife started off 
alone for the Rue de Bretagne, and as she Walked 
along she thought out some good excuses for her 
husband’s not going. In the first place he had so 
much work on hand. Then as they were not in 
the habit of going out together, they might be no- 
ticed. They were sure they had seen La Jacarasse 
hanging around the Rue Saint-Antoine and the 
Place de la Faubourg de Gloire. In short, she ar- 
ranged her excuses so well that no one gave a 
thought to his absence. 

And without him they had plenty to talk about, 
and were light-hearted together and comfortably 
gay. With much satisfaction Lazuli and Joy as- 
sured Planchot’s wife that Adeline’s gown would 
be finished in time to be worn on the journey to 
Avignon ; and then they ran on about the prepara- 
tions for starting, and about what could be done to 
make them comfortable on the long ride. 

Monsieur Calisto, who also had made his prep- 
arations, was as cheerful and as pleased as any of 
them. Only poor old joy sighed and sighed again : 
“Oh, how lonely I’m goin'g to be in this big barn 
of a house when you are gone! ” 

II 


158 


®lic (terror. 


“But Monsieur Calisto will keep you com- 
pany,” said Lazuli. 

“Monsieur Calisto can't stay much in the house 
now. He has to search for Monsieur le Comte.” 

“Dear Joy, don’t say that it hurts you to have 
us go,” said Adeline. “If you are sorry, how can 
we be glad ? ” 

Then Planchot's wife, who was as good as 
good bread, spoke up: “Now see here, Joy, 
don’t you be grunting and groaning and making 
Mademoiselle unhappy. Don't you suppose my 
heart is full at the thought of having her go off 
like this.? But when I look at her and see her 
happiness, I forget everything else!” 

“ Ah yes, that’s all very well for you who have 
your husband to talk to. He likes to talk and even 
to laugh a bit. But I must spend days and weeks 
without ever opening my mouth. Do you think 
that is nothing to bear .? See here, you ought at 
least to leave me little Clairet. He’d keep me 
awake, he would! Come here, Clairet. Say, 
wouldn’t you like to stay here with old Joy .?” 

“Yes, to eat jam.” 

“And we’ll dance ‘Old Nick is ailing.’” 

“Yes, we’ll eat jam, and then we’ll dance.” 

“And what will papa Vauclair say when no 
little Clairet turns up.?” asked Lazuli. To this 
Clairet did not answer at once but put his finger 
thoughtfully in his mouth — while they all laughed 
to see how puzzled he was. 

“Come, speak up. Which do you love best, 
.papa Vauclair or fig-jam .?” 

“ I love best, I love best ” 

“Take your fingers out of your mouth and 
speak up like a man,” said his mother. 

“I love best — I love best papa Vauclair and 
fig-jam together!” And having thus delivered 


J)cace in tl)c ilXibst of Storm. 


159 


himself, and being greatly confused at having thus 
under compulsion revealed the very depths of his 
little soul, Clairet threw himself into his mothers 
arms and hid his face and his sense of shame to- 
gether in her breast. 

Thus there were happy moments for the little 
party in the garden, but few of them, and even 
those few broken by alarms — as the tocsin rang 
out from some steeple, or strange noises put them 
in a panic, or there came floating over the house- 
tops to them the yells of the crowd of sans-cu- 
lottes gathered about the tower of the Temple 
that then was the prison of the King. They could 
see it, the black tower of the Temple, as they sat 
together in their sunny peaceful garden amidst the 
sweet smelling box-bushes and the flowers; and 
being in that gentle shelter where was rest and 
refreshment made more terrible to them the thought 
of that open square, only a bow-shot away, where 
all day long the crowd pressed jeeringly beneath 
the King’s prison window; where passed com- 
panies of howling sans-culottes ; where the terri- 
ble knitting-women of the Revolution were assem- 
bled, and where frantic bands came surging through 
the crowd to exhibit beneath the King’s window 
the head of an Aristocrat stuck on a pike. 

These roars, these shouts, the rattle of the drums 
under the barred windows of the prisoner-King, 
would send shudders through the little group of 
good woqien sewing there in the peaceful garden, 
and suddenly would bring their pleasant chatter to 
an end. And over and over again Joy would sigh 
under her breath: “ Oh, our poor good King! ” 

Even Lazuli, who though she could not pity 
the King yet had a tender heart in her, would say: 
“ See here, joy, don’t talk to me of your King. If 
he finds himself in a snake’s nest, it is because he 


i6o 


®l)e (terror. 


hunted it up himself. He and his Austrian have 
only got what they deserve. There’s a pair of 
them, and I don’t pity them one bit. But what 
does cut my heart and bring tears to my eyes is to 
think of their poor little innocent son — a little boy 
about my Clairet’s age — shut up in that awful 
place. I want to go right off and get him and 
bring him home here and kiss him and pet him 
and make him as happy as my own boy. Poor 
child, poor child! ” And then the tender creature 
would snatch up her Clairet into her arms, and 
would kiss him as though she thought that her 
long loving embrace could do good to the other 
poor little fellow up there in the dismal dark 
prison. 

And so the day passed, and a quiet night after 
it; and when morning came they were full of 
gladness because within another twenty-four hours 
they would be off on the journey that would take 
them back to Avignon and to Vauclair. Lazuli 
and Adeline chattered to each other about the joys 
of this neaf future; but the joys of the present 
were enough for Clairet. T rundling his new wheel- 
barrow in front of him and singing La Carmagnole 
and La Marseillaise at the top of his voice, he 
went racing around the garden as happy as a bird 
in June. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE AVIGNON COACH. 

On this last day Monsieur Calisto paid his court 
more and more assiduously to Mademoiselle la Com- 
tessine. Deep were his bows, and very elegant 
were his speeches setting forth the sorrow that 
would possess him when she was gone. To-day 
his house was Paradise, he said, but to-morrow it 
would be Purgatory; and he declared that he 
probably should fall ill. He asked Adeline if she 
would permit him to visit her in Avignon; and 
added that if she refused him that hope there was 
nothing for him but to quit this world forever — 
and so on and so on, by the half hour at a time. 
And Adeline was so happy that she said “yes ” to 
everything, and even permitted this love-lorn per- 
son repeatedly to kiss her hand. 

The famous frock, with its lace cape, was 
finished before nightfall. Adeline put it on at 
once and was the centre of an admiring group, 
for her new attire was very becoming to her. 
Monsieur Calisto ran off and came back with a 
small jewel-box that he had been holding in readi- 
ness. He opened it before the little party and drew 
out two diamond ear-drops that he himself fastened 
in her pretty ears. It was charming to see how 
well they suited her as they swung back and forth 
like glittering dew-drops over her delicate neck. 
But as Calisto’s hands touched her pure flesh Ade- 

i6i 


i 62 




line shivered a little, and then blushed deeply and 
stood with downcast eyes. She could not under- 
stand why she resented the touch of Calisto’s fin- 
gers. She only knew that she felt as though they 
were soiling her — and also, vaguely, that she was 
permitting something that would send thrilling 
through her Pascalet a pain like that which thrilled 
her own heart. 

But Adeline’s pain passed quickly, driven away 
by glad thoughts of the morrow; and when Plan- 
chot’s wife was leaving them to go home it was 
delight beyond words to settle how the very 
next day, very early, they all would stop for her 
and Planchot on their way to the starting place of 
the Avignon coach. 

At last the day and the evening ended and bed- 
time came. But sleep was another matter. If La- 
zuli and Adeline woke up once that night, they 
woke up ten times ! In fact, they scarcely closed 
their eyes at all. Only Clairet, tired out with run- 
ning after his wheel-barrow, slept like a little top. 
When day dawned the two women had been 
awake a long time, but Clairet still slept on — and 
so soundly and sweetly that Lazuli could not for a 
while find it in her mother-heart to waken him. 
She and Adeline rose and dressed rapidly, and 
made up their bundles for the journey; and when 
all was in readiness Lazuli gave Clairet a gentle 
shake. Even then he only turned drowsily — and 
only woke at last when she said: “See, here is 
Joy with the fig-jam ! ” 

In fact, at that moment Joy entered the room; 
and Clairet sitting straight up in bed, cried: 
“ Where’s my jam ? ” 

“ My darling,” Joy answered, “it’s waiting for 
you on the table. Come and get it. Come right 
along.” 


^i)c Qloacl). 


163 


Clairet was only too glad to be dressed in a 
hurry, then ; and when his dressing was finished 
the two women picked up their bundles and wraps, 
and Lazuli’s big shawl in which Clairet was to be 
wrapped at night, and away they went to break- 
fast. 

“You haven’t forgotten anything, have you ? ” 
Joy asked. 

“No, no,” said Adeline — to whom the mo- 
ment for leaving came slowly so eager was she to 
be off. 

Monsieur Calisto made his appearance- — dressed 
for the street, that he might accompany and guard 
them, in his National Guard uniform and wearing 
his pistols and his big sword. He would much 
have preferred to have gone gallantly dressed in 
fine silks and ribbon-gartered; but there was no 
use thinking of that sort of thing for a walk that 
would end in a meeting with Surto and La Jaca- 
rasse. Yet, with a good deal of bowing and scrap- 
ing, he made his excuses for the dress that he was 
forced to wear. 

They ate their breakfast hurriedly, and were at 
last at the very moment of starting when Clairet 
began to cry. “Why, whafs the matter ? ” asked 
his mother. “ Don't you want to go to Avignon ? ” 

“ Yes, I want to go.” 

“ What are you crying for then ? Do you want 
me to carry you ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then come along.” 

But Clairet would not come along. He stood 
still and howled. 

“You’ll make us miss the coach. We’ll have 
to leave you here all alone, ’’"said Lazuli, pretending 
to start. 

Adeline could not bear to see the little fellow's 


164 


®lie terror. 


tears, and putting her arms around him coaxed him 
to tell her what was the matter. At last it came 
out. 

“I want my wheel-barrow! ” 

“Oh, see there now,” said Joy, “he’s quite 
right. Of course he must have his wheel-barrow. 
I’ll get it and we’ll put it in the coach.” 

Good old joy trotted off into the garden and 
got the wheel-barrow, and as soon as Clairet saw 
it he clapped his hands delightedly and was en- 
tirely willing to start. And then away they all 
went together with their bags and their wraps and 
their bundles, loaded down like bees. 

Monsieur Calisto would not allow Mademoiselle 
la Comtessine to carry anything at all. He insisted 
gallantly on taking everything from her, and so the 
pretty girl walked as light as a bird. So graceful 
and charming was she that the people they met 
turned round to have another look at her as she 
passed. The others followed, Joy leading Clairet 
by the hand and carrying his wheel-barrow under 
her arm. 

It still was very early when they reached the 
Planchots’ — but the Planchots had been up for 
hours and had everything ready for them : a little 
basket of filberts, a bag of figs, a box of biscuit, 
and still another basket in which were two roasted 
chickens and a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. 
And as the Planchots were dressed in their Sunday 
best it looked as though they were starting on a 
journey themselves. 

Planchofs eyes were red, he had not slept, and 
it is even possible that this fierce Revolutionist had 
been crying a little. He was bitterly sorry to have 
them all go; but his sorrow was balanced in a way 
by his gladness that they were well out of the 
house in the Rue de Bretagne. He distrusted most 


®l)e ^uignon (Hoacl). 


165 


thoroughly that Calisto — that Monsieur Calisto, as 
he chose to be called! — who was so intimate with 
Surto and La Jacarasse and who could lie so plausi- 
bly and so well. But Planchot was discreet enough 
not to betray his ill-feeling, and was as civil to Ca- 
listo as the occasion required. He did not throw 
himself into his arms, indeed; but he did manage 
to offer him, along with the others, a glass of cor- 
dial wine. 

Then they all started for the coach together; 
and made a point of being cheerful as they walked 
along, keeping their sorrow over their separation 
in the background and trying not to think about 
the painful good-byes. The moment would come 
soon enough when they would be embracing each 
other and weeping, and then would separate as if 
forever. It would be time enough for tears when 
the coach was starting, when the bells jingled and 
the coachman’s whip cracked cheerily and seemed 
to say: “Hurry up, hurry up, good people! One 
last kiss and off we go! Hurry up, hurry up! ” 

As they came out on the Place du Faubourg de 
Gloire, Calisto, who was a little ahead, turned to 
the others and said : “ It is best to take every pre- 
caution. Those wretches Surto and La Jacarasse 
may guess that you are leaving to-day and they 
may be at the coach to meet you. Take my ad- 
vice and wait here a moment in the ruins of the 
Bastille while I go on ahead and make sure that 
they are not there.” 

“And suppose they should be there said 
old Planchot stoutly. “ We are two men here to 
make them listen to reason! ” 

“Hush, hush, Planchot!” said his wife, hold- 
ing him back. “ Don’t make such a noise. Mon- 
sieur Calisto is quite right. It is better to be on the 
safe side.” 


i66 


®l)e terror. 


''Citizen Calisto may be right — but I’m not 
wrong. Here, wife, take this basket a moment 
while I run back for my axe.” 

“No, no, Planchot,” said Calisto. “That will 
never do at all. Don’t you see that anything like 
that would ruin us Just wait here quietly for a 
minute while I go on and take a look and then 
come back again and report.” 

At hearing Calisto talking about La Jacarasse 
and Surto, and Planchot about going back for his 
axe, Adeline began to tremble and Lazuli felt her 
knees going queer. As for Planchot’s wife, she 
gripped her man fast to keep him from running 
away from her — and bitterly regretted that she had 
not a convenient heap of shavings to faint upon! 
But Calisto’s proposal was a sensible one, and they 
let him go on ahead to see if the coast were 
clear. 

Over at the other end of the Place stood the 
Avignon coach, with its green and yellow body 
and its red curtains. The horses had not been put 
to, but people were busy about it making ready 
for. the start. A porter mounted on a ladder was 
piling the top, under the hood, with all sorts of 
boxes and packages. The coachman in his rough 
sheepskin coat was going and coming, ordering 
the proper placing of the luggage — it was the same 
kind coachman who so cleverly had helped Lazuli 
to get Adeline out of La jacarasse’s claws. They 
saw Calisto go up and speak to him. 

Of course, what was said they could not hear; 
but presently they saw the Coachman point to the 
door of the tavern, and then they saw Calisto leave 
him and go inside. He was gone so long that it 
seemed to the anxious watchers as though he never 
would come out again. Planchot, full of doubts 
and suspicions, began to mutter under his breath; 


Sriie ^uignon €oacli. 


167 


and that made his wife hold him still more tightly 
by his sleeve. 

“Come, come, Planchot my man,” she said, 
“ do keep quiet. He'll come back presently, and 
then we’ll know what it’s all about.” 

“Why wouldn’t you let me go and get my 
axe.?” grumbled Planchot. “I’d have been back 
by this time.” And he tried to get loose from his 
wife. 

“Well, we’ve waited this long,” said Lazuli, 
“and so we may as well wait till the end.” 

Adeline pressed close against her and said: 
“ Lazuli, don’t leave me! 1 am sure that something 
is going all wrong. What makes you so pale .?” 

“I’m not pale,” Lazuli answered. “It’s only 
the cool of the morning makes me look so.” 

While they talked their eyes were fixed on the 
door of the Cabaret des Sans-culottes. Suddenly 
Monsieur Calisto came out from the tavern and 
after him came La Jacarasse — with her big basket, 
her cap untied, her hair loose, her face a lobster 
red. They were talking excitedly and gesticulat- 
ing at a great rate. Together they went to speak 
to the coachman and then went back toward the 
Cabaret. Then Surto showed himself on the 
threshold, and more excited talking went on. It 
looked as though they were quarrelling. 

When the little party in waiting saw all this, 
the women exclaimed aloud and Adeline hid her 
eyes in Lazuli’s shawl. Planchofs wife simply 
could not hold in her Planchot any longer. He 
shouted: “Robbers! Murderers! I am here! 
This time I Won’t let them get away! ” 

“My man, my Planchot, don’t go!” shrieked 
his wife, clinging fast to his arm. “Don’t go, 1 
say! Remember, Adeline is here and it is death 
to her if those wretches catch sight of her! ” 


i68 




Fortunately just then Surto and La Jacarasse 
went back into the Cabaret; then they saw Mon- 
sieur Calisto, after a word to the coachman, return- 
ing toward them around by the other side of the 
ruins of the Bastille. As soon as he had come 
within safe speaking distance he burst out: 
“Quick! Quick! Hurry back to the house in- 
stantly! Surto and La Jacarasse and a lot of sans- 
culottes are over there waiting to arrest you! ” 

“But they won’t arrest me!” cried old Plan- 
chot, trying to drag himself loose from his wife’s 
grasp. 

“For God’s sake keep quiet!” said Calisto. 
“Don’t you see that if you make a disturbance 
everything will be lost } Unless you want to help 
in this young girl’s murder, go off instantly with 
your wife to your own house. And you Made- 
moiselle, and you Mise Lazuli, come quickly with 
me back to the Rue de Bretagne.” 

As Calisto spoke he caught Adeline’s arm 
within his own and started away with her at a 
quick walk. Lazuli and Clairet followed close 
after them, the little fellow fairly running to make 
the pace. Old Joy, carrying the wheel-barrow, 
did her best to keep up with the party, but her 
breath soon left her and her old legs trembled and 
she lagged far behind. Planchot stood for some 
minutes irresolute; but ended by permitting his 
wife to persuade him that his settlement of accounts 
with Surto and La Jacarasse must be put off to some 
better time. 

When the house in the Rue de Bretagne was 
reached the women were panting and weary, and 
Adeline and Lazuli hardly could restrain their sobs. 
And Monsieur Calisto — 'who fairly was trembling 
with delight over the successful result of his well 
laid plan — was most becomingly sorrowful too. He 


®l)e ^ingnon (load). 


169 


sighed heavily, and his expression was a miracle 
of melancholy; but he also was admirably sympa- 
thetic and consoling between his sighs. 

“ Do not grieve too deeply,” he said to Lazuli, 
who was sending up lamentations to heaven for 
the loss of her Vauclair. “ Do not grieve. 1 have 
arranged that your excellent husband shall be told 
what has happened and he will not be alarmed. 
The coachman has my directions to find him, either 
when he comes up with the Battalion or in Avi- 
gnon, and to tell him everything; and to tell him 
that you will go down by the next coach.” 

“ And a nice thing that is to tell him ! ” snapped 
out Lazuli. “It puts us back nearly a whole 
month !” 

“Lazuli, dear,” said Adeline, embracing her, 
“1 am so very, very sorry. It is 1, 1 alone who 
am the cause of all this trouble ! Leave me here if 
it is too hard for you to remain. 1 would rather 
die than hurt you ! ” 

“ My child, my own child! ” cried Lazuli, press- 
ing Adeline to her breast, “you break my heart 
by talking that way! /leave you here! My Vau- 
clair is the kindest of men and he will understand. 
He would do just the same himself ! ” 

“Come, come,” said Joy, who at last had got 
her breath again. “Don’t set your blood on fire 
for nothing. Ain’t you comfortable here ? If you 
don’t leave to-day, you'll still be going soon. We ll 
find some pleasant way to pass our time. Grunt- 
ing and groaning never did anybody any good. 
Patience is best. There’s my^ Clairet — he don’t 
care whether he goes or whether he stays. And 
he shall have something — oh so good! — for his 
dinner.” 

“ Oh 1 know, 1 know!” said the child, caper- 
ing and dancing before the sad little group. 


®l)e terror. 


170 


“ Well, well, after all,” said Lazuli, who knew 
that the bitterest part of Adeline’s distress was be- 
cause of the disappointment of her friends; “after 
all, you know, we must take things easy as they 
come. In three weeks the next coach starts. We 
still shall get to Avignon in good time to meet 
Vauclair. And even if we don’t,” she added with 
a little gulp, “it don’t matter the least bit in the 
world.” 

“I assure you,” put in Monsieur Calisto, 
“there is no real occasion for anxiety. Be tran- 
quil, I beg of you. And now take my advice and 
go into the garden for a little stroll — while I, 
with the kind permission of Mademoiselle la 
Comtessine, will retire and exchange these hideous 
clothes for others that will be less disagreeable in 
her sight.’* And with this fine speech Monsieur 
Calisto retreated backwards, making his three 
deep bows. 

Clairet took his wheel-barrow from Joy, and 
Lazuli and Adeline holding each other by the hand 
went down into the garden, joy followed with a 
table; and then, returning to the house, brought 
out a work-basket in which were all sorts of 
things for sewing and embroidering and set it be- 
fore them with the assurance that if they kept 
their hands busy the time would not lag. This 
bit of kindly thoughtfulness on Joy’s part brought 
with it its own reward. Lazuli, who could do 
anything she chose with her fingers, at once be- 
gan to make a nice cape with a hood for the old 
woman, and Adeline set herself to embroidering 
a cap that should be for her Sunday best. And 
Joy, overcome with delight, rocked herself back- 
ward and forward, saying: “But I shall be too 
fine, entirely too fine! When the folks at Aramon 
see me with such a cape and cap they’ll want to 


®l)e <^mgnon CoacI). 


171 


know if Fm looking out for a husband! I thought 
my old cape would hold out to the end of my days. 
And as to my wearing an embroidered cap, I 
never thought that such a thing could happen at 
all! ” And then, not to be behindhand, she began 
to knit a little red shawl for Lazuli, and promised 
that she would knit a green and white one for 
Adeline, and a pair of stockings for Clairet. 

And the time really did not pass heavily, for 
they all were busy and the days slipped quickly by. 

Monsieur Calisto fluttered about the busy little 
group, and day after day brought bouquets of 
choice flowers to the Comtessine, who graciously 
accepted them. 

Planchot’s wife came often, and brought news 
and gossip with her. She knew pretty much all 
that was happening, and a good deal of what was 
going to happen, too. Planchot went constantly 
to the Jacobin Club, and there he heard all that 
was doing and all that was being planned. The 
business of the Revolution was not going on at 
all to Planchot’s liking nor to the liking of Plan- 
chot’s wife. If the Marseilles Battalion had not 
started away so soon, things would have been 
much better, they thought. No one seemed to 
know what anybody wanted, Planchot said. At 
the Club, as long as the Marseillais were in Paris, 
everybody was full of abolishing the throne and 
of giving the King his walking papers. But as 
soon as those brave Marseillais were off every one 
— even Robespierre, himself — began to prate about 
an “ everlasting attachment to the throne.” What 
did that mean, Planchot wanted to know ? And 
when Danton or Barbaroux tried to speak of the 
King’s abdication, all the jacobins pounced on 
them and voted them down. 

“ But it’s got to come, all the same,” said 


172 


®I)c terror. 


Planchot’s wife. ‘ ‘ What those lawyers and dandies 
won’t do, the people will do. The chestnut’s got 
to crack it’s skin on the 22d September.” 

“ What’s going to happen on the 22d Septem- 
ber ? ” asked Lazuli, who in a general way under- 
stood patriotism, but to whom politics were very 
dark indeed. 

“What’s going to happen.?” repeated Plan- 
chot’s wife. “Why, this is going to happen: 
On the 22d of September the King will be nothing 
— just nothing at all! ” 

“And then.?” 

“ And then we’ll all shout ‘ Vive la Repu- 
blique! ’ for the monarchy will be at an end! ” 

“Holy Maria! Saint Joseph! Saint Ann! 
Saint Joachim!” screamed Joy, stopping her ears 
as if a thunderbolt had gone off under the trees. 
And then they all laughed at good old Joy’s fright, 
and presently — thinking that Planchot’s wife was 
only joking, Joy laughed too. 

Thus their days in the garden passed pleasantly. 
But some other matters were not pleasant, and 
chief of these was that the Avignon coach did not 
return. It was several days behindhand. They 
were beginning to fear that perhaps it might not 
come back at all. 

“ Well, if it don’t come,” said Lazuli resolutely, 
“ we’ll go back in some carrier’s cart. There are 
plenty of carriers from down there.” 

“Oh you must not think of such a thing!” 
cried Monsieur Calisto. “The idea of Mademoi- 
selle la Comtessine in a carrier’s cart! And, re- 
member, it takes a good month for a cart to go 
from here to Avignon. Think of what a journey 
that would be! ” 

But to Monsieur Calisto’s annoyance, Adeline 
did not seem to find anything very alarming in 


( 2 :i)c ^mgnou (JToacl]. 


173 


this prospect. “For my part,” she said, “I 
would just as lief as not go in a cart. Indeed, I 
think that it would be pleasanter than the coach. 
It is very disagreeable to be crowded in with peo- 
ple one does not know — and shut up inside of a 
coach one sees nothing at all. And all the more 
if we can gain time by it, let us go in a cart.” 

Certainly this speech was not a pleasant one 
for Monsieur Calisto to listen to. It showed him 
clearly that he had not at all succeeded in touching 
the heart of the Comtessine, or she would not be 
in such a hurry to get away. But he was not a 
man to be discouraged easily, nor was he a man 
to stick at trifles in order to gain his ends. It 
was evident that Mademoiselle la Comtessine 
would not on any account quit Lazuli. He might 
court her to his heart’s content, but when the 
time came for Lazuli to leave she would leave also 
— and then it would be “ Good-bye, and catch me 
if you can ! ” 


12 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE CI-DEVANT MARQUISE ADELAIDE. 

Pondering these matters, Monsieur Calisto per- 
ceived that it was essential to the success of his 
plans that Adeline and Lazuli should be separated. 
This meant, of course, that Lazuli must be sent 
away somewhere — for it. was still more essential 
to the success of his plans that Adeline should stay 
where she was. And so, while this honest young 
gentleman yas making his bows and paying his 
compliments to the Comtessine, and was making 
pleasant speeches to Lazuli and Clairet, he was re- 
volving in his mind various projects for getting rid 
of the mother and the child. 

And presently, being fertile in invention, the 
excellent thought occurred to him of turning Lazuli 
over to the tender mercies of Surto and Lajacarasse. 
The more he considered this project the more 
merits did he perceive in it. It not only would 
rid him of Lazuli, but it would restore to him the 
somewhat wavering contidence of his friends. 
He would please them by delivering Lazuli into 
their hands, and still more would please them with 
the assurance that when they had Lazuli shut up 
in their house in the Rue des Vieux Chemins they 
easily could terrify her into betraying Adeline’s 
hiding place. Ancl he could do this in absolute 
safety. . It was with pleasure that he recognized 
in Lazuli’s character the quality of unswerving 
174 


Qri)e (di-JBetJant iHarquise ^bdaibc. 175 


faithfulness that would make her die before she 
would betray her friend. 

His plan being settled, Monsieur Calisto laid it 
aside in his orderly mind until he should need to 
use it. And the need came when Lazuli and 
Adeline — the coach being a month overdue, and 
no news to be had of its coming — decided defi- 
nitely that they would make the journey to Avi- 
gnon in a cart. That day Calisto saw that the time 
for action had arrived. “Now they really do 
mean to go,” he said to himself, “and 1 must 
carry out my plan before the birds fly off.” And 
having thus counselled himself, he set out in that 
very moment for the dwelling of Surto. and La 
Jacarasse. 

But when he knocked at the door of the house 
in the Rue des Vieux Chemins there was no an- 
swer. This annoyed him. “They are out,” he 
thought, “and here I’ve come all this distance to 
find my nose brought up against a barred door.” 
But then another thought came to him: “What 
an ass I am ! The Marquise certainly is in. It is 
the very chance I want! ” And with that he raised 
the knocker and slowly gave three double knocks. 
Listening, he heard the sound of footsteps; and 
then, in another moment, the door was opened — 
and instantly he had rushed inside like a whirl- 
wind and had turned and shut it fast. 

It was with premeditation that Calisto made so 
rapid and so violent an entry, for he felt very sure 
that the Marquise had only to catch sight of him 
to jam the door shut on his nose. But having 
gained his point he made a profound bow and pre- 
sented his excuses. “ Madame la Marquise,” he 
said, “I am Calisto, the servant of Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernede. Do not be alarmed. Think 
a moment and you will remember me. I have 


1/6 


®l)c terror. 


come to help you. I beg of you to bar the door 
again, and then to listen to what I have to say.” 

“Wretched man!” cried the Marquise, who 
was trembling with a very real terror, “should 
Surto find you here we both would be lost! ” 

“Not at all, Madame. We are friends, he and 
I. He is not bad.” 

“ Oh, he is not bad at all. Ifs that Jacarasse.” 

“ Do not fear, I’ll bring her to reason too. Be- 
sides, 1 shall tell them 1 came here for their own 
good, and I’ll prove what 1 say.” 

Being thus reassured, the Marquise became 
calmer. And then slowly, without being able to 
see each , others’ faces, the two went up the dark 
stairway. When they reached the kitchen Calisto 
made a profound bow and begged Madame la 
Marquise to precede him : and Madame la Marquise 
preceded him with her head in the air, as stiff and 
stately as though she were in the drawing-room 
of her own chateau ! 

As she passed out from the kitchen into her 
own apartment, Calisto, nimble as a cat, put his 
hand into the jar on the shelf and pulled out a 
paper which he slipped into his pocket. It was 
done in an instant — and in the next instant he had 
followed the Marquise d’Ambrun into her little sit- 
ting room at the very back of the house. 

In spite of what he had said about settling 
matters with Surto, Calisto had no desire to make 
his visit a long one. But he had something to say 
to the Marquise before he went away. Facing 
sharply around upon the fallen woman he said in 
a rough voice: “Madame, I know everything! 
You had your husband murdered, and possibly 
also your son. You delivered over your daughter, 
the Comtessine Adeline, to the horrible La ja- 
carasse. There is not in all the world a woman 


®l)c Qli-^Dctjant iHarqttise ^bciaibc. 177 


more stained with shame and crime than you are. 
You cannot sink any lower than you have sunk. 
You are plunged in slime to your very forehead. 
There is no dungeon deep enough, no chain heavy 
enough, no rack, no wheel, no hell awful enough 
for you! Yet I, Calisto des Sablees, take pity on 
you! 1 believe that you feel remorse for your 
crimes. I believe that still, somewhere in your 
stained body, you have a mother’s heart, and that 
somewhere in it there remains a little pity for your 
only living child. 1 come to tender you my hand, 
and to drag you out of this slough of death. I 
come to give you back your child, your Adeline — 
who longs for her mother and who is ignorant of 
the pit of infamy into which you are plunged.” 

As she heard these words the Marquise fell 
back into a chair, and with her face hidden in her 
hands wept piteously. 

“Pardon! It is all true,” she moaned. “I 
am a wicked and a miserable woman ! Oh save 
me, drag me out of this pit of sin ! I am ashamed 
to speak to you, to look at you! Give me back 
my child! ” 

Sobs and sighs for a time broke her utterance. 
At last she went on : 

“ Ah, what could so have fired my blood that 
I, the Marquise d’Ambrun, forgot all my duties ? 
Whence could have come the scorpion of evil that 
stung my heart to the sin of desiring the death of 
my husband ? Whence came the viper I nour- 
ished in my bosom when 1 delivered over my 
child, my daughter, my blood, to that infamous 
creature who has made me even more infamous 
than herself.^” 

The Marquise tore at her hair, and her sobs 
seemed as though they would choke her. Again 
she cried: “ Pardon! Pardon! But no, ah no. 


178 


©error. 


there is no pardon for such as I ! lam too great a 
sinner! I am wicked enough to frighten the very 
Father of Sin 1 My own self terrifies me ! ” 

While the Marquise thus was giving full course 
to her anguish, Calisto had taken a piece of paper 
and a pen from the table and had dipped the pen 
into the ink and had written: 

“1, the Marquise Adelaide d’Ambrun, give in 
marriage my daughter, the Comtessine Adeline 
d’Ambrun, to the faithful Calisto des Sablees de 
la Vernede. 1 believe my daughter will carry out 
my wishes, and so will show her obedience to her 
unhappy mother.” 

When the Marquise, exhausted by her own 
anguish, was a little quieted Calisto spoke again; 
but this time gently and soothingly: “Do not be 
so utterly unhappy,” he said. “For every sin 
there is a pardon, and there may be a cure for your 
pains of hell. With the aid of a merciful God per- 
haps you can leave the paths of vice, and even 
avoid the clutch of death. But to gain happiness 
and safety you must trust your daughter to me, 
and we must become so closely related that I shall 
be able to answer on my head for you both. 1 
must tell you — though you may know it — that 1 
am the delegate of the Revolutionary sections of 
Paris. 1 have the power of life and death over all 
noble families and over all citizens who may be 
considered ‘suspect.’ That you may understand 
me clearly, and may know that 1 am telling you 
the simple truth, look at these papers,” and as he 
spoke he held open before her the warrant for the 
arrest of herself and La Jacarasse and Surto, and 
with this the warrant for the arrest of Adeline that 
he had just stolen from Surto’s jar. 

But the Marquise still kept her hands over her 
face, and without looking at the warrants went 


QL[)C (Ei-'Bcmnt iJlarquise 179 


on: “I know my sin, and I am ready for any ex- 
piation. What must I do ? At whose knees must 
I throw myself.^ Where is the prison where my 
shame can be hidden from all eyes ? Where is the 
bloody block on which I may lay my head to pay 
the heavy debt of my crimes ? ” 

“Do you see these orders?” asked Calisto, 
again presenting the papers to her. 

This time the Marquise read them. For some 
moments she could not speak. Her teeth chattered 
with fear. At last she stammered: “Oh God! oh 
God! No, no, I cannot die! Oh God! oh merci- 
ful God, save me and save my child, my Adeline! 
Oh Monsieur Calisto what must I do ? Tell me, 
tell me! Drag me out of this gulph into which I 
am fallen. If you save my child, if you deliver me 
from that Surto and that Jacarasse who have guided 
me into the ways of sin, I will throw myself at 
your feet and thank you with all my heart! ” 

“ Heaven forbid that you should humble your- 
self before me, Madame,” Calisto answered. “ But 
in order to save your own life and the life of your 
daughter, and in order to escape from Surto and 
La Jacarasse, it is necessary, as I have said, that 
you should be closely related to me and so be un- 
der my protection. Therefore I ask you to sign 
this consent to my marriage with Adeline.” 

The Marquise read what Calisto had written 
and said: “I am an unworthy mother, my child 
no longer owes me either respect or obedience. I 
do not know that I have any right now to im- 
pose my will upon her.” 

“Your formal consent is necessary, Madame, 
and unless you give it her life and your own al- 
ready are as good as lost. And hurry, I beseech 
you. At any moment Surto and La Jacarasse may 
return. And then ” 


i8o 


(terror. 


This threat was sufficient. The Marquise took 
the pen that Calisto presented to her and signed 
the paper, at the same time wetting it with her 
tears. 

Calisto drew a long breath of perfect satisfac- 
tion. Then, as he collected and pocketed the pa- 
pers, he said: “Madame, do not let your tongue 
pass your lips in regard to what has taken place 
here to-day. Have patience. Have faith in me. 
Believe that, no matter what may happen, I will 
come for you in due time and deliver you, and will 
bring you again to your child — who will have for- 
given you all. You shall be with her once more 
in safety““forever delivered from those wretches, 
Surto and La Jacarasse, who have dragged you 
alive into this hell.” 

“I swear to you,” the Marquise answered, 
“that 1 will be silent. But I implore you to 
promise that you soon will put an end to my mar- 
tyrdom. If you wait long, it will be too late.” 

Calisto was moving toward the door — he had 
good reason for wanting to get out of the house 
before Surto’s return to it — and did not answer the 
Marquise. She followed him with difficulty, re- 
peating: “But you will promise me.^ You will 
give me your promise. Monsieur Calisto ? Every 
day La Jacarasse threatens me with her big knife. 
Some day when she is drunk she will stab me 
with it.” 

“Do not fear, Madame,” Calisto answered, as 
he opened the door. “ Only preserve an absolute 
silence as to what has happened to-day, and in less 
time than you imagine you will be freed.” And 
with this reassuring, yet somewhat equivocal an- 
swer, he raced down the stairs and out of the 
house and went off as though the devil were at 
his heels. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE MOB BEFORE THE TEMPLE TOWER. 

Calisto was delighted beyond all words. At 
last he held both the loaf and the knife in his 
hands. Adeline was his, all his! She would not 
dare to dispute her mother’s authority. His hopes 
were grounded surely at last. And chewing the 
cud of this sweet reflection he walked off quickly 
until he came again to the Rue de Bretagne. 

But as he neared his own home his pleasant 
thoughts were interrupted rudely — as there came 
from the direction of the river a wild turmoil of 
noises above which rose highest the fierce shouts 
of a multitude and the sharp rattle of drums. Cer- 
tainly, something out of the common, even in those 
wild times, was happening. Listening anxiously, 
Calisto pulled up short. 

With each instant the noise came nearer, and 
the shouts grew sharper and shriller until they 
seemed to be blended in a single terrible yell. 
With this was the drumming and the tramp of 
feet. As it all came surging toward him it seemed 
like the crackling crash of some great conflagration 
of mountain forests — a bursting roaring fire that 
enveloped everything; that leaped from peak to 
peak and that made the dense masses of trees one 
whirl of glowing, snapping, crackling, crashing, 
blazing flame! 

All in a moment, as he stood there terrified, 

i8i 


i 82 


®l)c iir error. 


the cause of this uproar was upon him and he was 
caught into its vortex. Pouring into the street and 
filling it came a howling crowd, headed by a hun- 
dred or more drums all beating the alarm. Chil- 
dren and women were among the drummers, all 
red-capped and dishevelled; and in the rear of this 
strange drum-corps came what looked like a bat- 
talion of sans-culottes — who held on high, on pikes 
or on the points of long swords, freshly severed 
grimacing heads. One man had no less than three 
spitted on his pike, which dripped the whole length 
of its handle with blood. Another carried aloft the 
entire bust of a woman, the arms dangling limply 
from the shoulders this way and that. This bloody 
bit of a corpse had staring wide-open eyes, and a 
wide-open mouth that seemed to roar and howl 
with the yelling crowd: 

(^ 3 . ira ! ^a ira ! ^a ira ! 

Les aristocrates a la lanterne ! 

Following this wild advance guard came a bat- 
talion of mounted national gensdarmes — with the 
flaps of their hats cocked up in front jauntily and 
fastened with a tri-colored cockade. These were 
the escort of a member of the National Assembly 
— a lean, pale, close-shaven, insignificant-looking 
young man, with a ferret-face and an air of severe 
dignity. With thin lips pressed close together, he 
marched alone on his meagre sticks of legs in the 
wide space kept clear for him by the plunging and 
kicking horses of the gendarmes. More drums fol- 
lowed; then a detachment of the National Guard; 
then delegates from the communal sections of 
Paris; and then, trailing along like some mon- 
strous reptile, came the Paris crowd. 

The crowd of Paris — that bastard crowd in 
which are mingled strains from the north and 


®l]c ilXob before tl)e temple (Jotoer. 183 


south and east and west of all France! There 
were traces of the blood of the strong-jawed low- 
browed Bretons, with more bone than marrow; 
of the double-dealing Normans; of the chattering 
but brave Gascons; of the Proven9aux, whose 
ardent souls turn always toward the true and the 
beautiful and are filled with lofty ideals. And 
they were of all sorts and conditions — burghers 
and “ knitting women ” and honest workmen and 
thieves. But for all their diversity they yet had 
solidarity; for this Paris crowd at last understood 
and was exercising its own great strength. From 
the Marseilles Battalion it had learned its lesson. 
Crazy with its power, wild with enthusiasm, it 
rushed on shouting: 

Tremblez, tyrans ! et vous, perfides ! 

Last of all, like the scum of a spent wave, came 
the very scrapings of Paris — the muck and refuse 
of the whole city, and of all peoples and lands: 
idlers, roughs, drunkards, murderers — an ignoble, 
squirming tail! These howling and foaming mon- 
sters were brandishing knives wildly, and with 
clenched fists bravely were threatening everything 
and everybody. Yet in a single day, in a single 
hour, these same blood-thirsty braggarts might be 
changed into cringing, mute, credulous cowards — 
begging for mercy, and cowering with clasped 
hands. For such as these are but the mire and 
rottenness of humanity. 

Into this tempest Calisto was caught, and was 
borne away in it like a leaf in a whirlwind. And 
presently, as he was swept onward, he found that 
the storm of which he had become a part was to 
break against the tower of the Temple — that al- 
ready could be seen in the distance, looming black 


184 


(terror. 


against the sky. As the crowd neared the black 
tower the bloody heads danced more merrily their 
gruesome dance, and as it came close to the build- 
ing the lower door was opened. 

Coming out from his cordon of gendarmes, and 
followed by a guard, the pale, jimp little man en- 
tered the Temple and climbed the narrow winding 
stairway and went into the prison cell of him who 
had been King Louis XVI. The little man came 
to a halt in front of the King, around whom were 
gathered his family and his servants, and drawing 
out his cocked hat from under his arm put it on 
his head. Then in a thin reedy voice, that sounded 
as though he were speaking through a funnel, he 
announced in the name of the Nation to Louis 
Capet, ci-devant Louis XVI., that the Monarchy 
was abolished and that the Republic was pro- 
claimed. 

This done, the Deputy (for such he was) turned 
sharply on his heel and went down the narrow 
stairway — and no sooner was he gone than the 
jailers seized Capet by the shoulders and dragged 
him away from the Austrian his wife and from his 
children and shut him fast in the highest room in 
the Tower. 

When the little thin man — who in the name of 
the People had torn the crown off of the head of 
him who was the King of France — reappeared at 
the foot of the stairway, the crowd roared “ Vive 
la Nation!” three times; and there, finding him- 
self again facing the People — his master and tyrant 
— he took off his cocked hat and once more tucked 
it under his arm. Then, preceded by the drums 
and by the sans-culottes, escorted by the gens- 
darmes and followed by the crowd, he returned 
to the Assembly — and there sank back into the 
obscurity whence for one short instant the hand 


®l)e iUob before tbe Setnple Pettier. 185 


of God had drawn him to serve as the tool with 
which to work His justice. 

In the wake of the gendarmes Calisto was able 
to make a start toward the near-by Rue de Bre- 
tagne, and then the crowd closed in upon him 
and he was held fast again. A group of sans- 
culottes and knitting women happened to get 
about him, and caught him away quite in the op- 
posite direction to that in which he wished to go; 
and when he broke loose and started back again a 
band of rapscallions singing the “ ^a ira ” barred 
his advance. But the crowd thinned rapidly, and 
before many minutes the Place was pretty well 
cleared. A few people remained clustered in front 
of the tower, enjoying the antics of the men bear- 
ing the bloody heads on pikes — which pleasing 
objects they were hoisting up in front of the prison 
windows and calling to the Austrian woman to 
come and look at them. The onlookers from be- 
low were encouraging this exhibition by capering 
and dancing around the pike-men, and by shaking 
their fists at the windows, and by shouting out 
ribald chaff. 

Calisto did not find this performance especially 
amusing, and was about turning to leave the Place 
when suddenly he caught sight among the caper- 
ers of a stout woman with a dirty white cap 
stuck on crookedly over her red face and with a 
basket on her arm — and instantly recognized La 
Jacarasse. Looking closer, he saw that the man 
whose hand she held, and who was capering with 
her clumsily, was Surto; and at sight of these two 
worthies together he felt a genuine satisfaction, 
for a meeting with them at that juncture was pre- 
cisely to his mind. 

“It’ll be killing two birds with one stone,” 


i86 


®l)e terror. 


said Calisto to himself. “ I missed them at their 
house — and it was a lucky thing for me that I did! 
Now I’ve got them together, and 1 can make out 
an alibi and at the same time finish my work off- 
hand;” and he went up to Surto and said as he 
tapped him on the shoulder: “ Well, Citizen, you’re 
getting the cramps out of your legs finely. How 
goes it ” 

“ Why, here’s Calisto! ” said La Jacarasse, stop- 
ping short in her caperings — puffing and blowing 
and as red as a beet — and standing with arms 
akimbo while she gripped her heaving sides and 
waited to get back her wind. Surto danced 
around once more and then joined them. 

“Well friends,” said Calisto, “haven’t you 
caught yet the butterfly of the Chateau de la 
Garde ? ” 

“Don’t talk to me about it!” said Surto. 
“ Here I’ve been living right in the same town 
with her all this time and yet I haven’t the least 
notion where she makes her hiding place.” 

“All the same,” panted La Jacarasse, still out 
of breath, “I’m about sure that Planchot’s wife 
goes to see her every day. I see her start, and 1 
do my best to follow her; but the old slut twists 
and turns and doubles so that she always ends by 
getting away from me, and I don’t know where 
she goes.” 

“The other day,” said Surto, “I saw Lazuli 
going out of Planchof s house. I don’t know if 
the Jade saw me. All I know is that she shot off 
like a streak of lightning and that I lost her in the 
tangle of streets near the Seine.” 

“ I think,” said Calisto, “that the girl doesn’t 
stay long in any one place. If she did, you cer- 
tainly would have tracked her long ago.” 

“ That’s it, Calisto,” said La jacarasse. “ You’ve 


(Jl)e illob before tlie Semple Somer. 187 


got it — for at one time they go toward the Seine, 
and the next time toward the Rue Saint-Antoine, 
and the next time toward the Faubourg de Gloire. 
It’s never twice the same way.” 

“Well,” said Calisto, “1 know how I’d find 
her and quick enough, too! ” He gave a knowing 
wink as he spoke, and then was silent, waiting to 
be questioned. 

“ Well and how would you go about it, since 
you think yourself so sharp ? ” said Surto, who 
was very eager in the matter. 

“ fd go about it in just the simplest way in the 
world.” 

“ But that isn’t telling how,” said Surto. 

“ I couldn’t possibly fail.” 

“Well, speak up then. Don’t keep us on 
tenter-hooks,” said La Jacarasse,. as she gave a 
wriggle and hitched up her petticoats. After 
her caperings she was rather more coming to 
pieces than usual. 

“ If 1 were you. I’d get hold of Lazuli; and I’d 
shut her up in that house in the Rue des Vieux 
Chemins and not let her out until she told me 
where Adeline was hidden — not until 1 had the 
girl in my hands.” 

“But what right have I to shut her up, 
and where could I find her if 1 had ? ” Surto 
asked. 

“Really, Surto, you are very slow!” Calisto 
answered. “ What right have you ? I think you 
are pretty well acquainted with the house of Death, 
No. 20 Rue des Cordeliers. You must know that 
you have only to ask the Father of the People for 
an order for Lazuli’s arrest and you will get it. Is 
she not hiding away Adeline, whose death-warrant 
you already have ? ” 

“ Yes, 1 suppose that’s so,” said Surto slowly. 


i88 


@:i)e QLcxvot. 


“But after I’ve got my order, where can I arrest 
her ? ” 

“That’s easy enough too. La Jacarasse has 
seen her coming away from the Planchots once 
already. You only have to watch there for 
her and you’ll have her. But I think I can put 
you up to still another chance. The other day I 
happened to come across a carter at the Golden 
Bell who told me that Lazuli had been to see him 
to arrange for going back to Avignon in his cart. 
You know as well as I do that the coach has 
stopped running since the day I saw you there. 
No doubt Lazuli has made up her mind to return 
in a cart. Keep on watch for her at the Golden 
Bell.” 

“I can see it’ll be easy enough to bag her,” 
put in La Jacarasse. “ But after we’ve bagged 
her I don’t see how we’re going to make her 
squeal.” 

“ She’ll talk fast enough if you put the screws 
on her,” said Calisto. “You see it’s not only 
Adeline she leaves behind but her little Clairet. 
Such a mother as she is will sacrifice everything to 
get back to her child. And you might as well let 
her have a look down that deep well of yours, 
too.” 

“ Couldn’t you find out from the carter when 
he expects to see her again ? ” Surto asked. 

“Without* my asking him, the man told me 
that she was coming again in two or three days. 
I didn't pay much attention to him. It wasn’t 
until later that I thought of your affairs. I was 
starting for the Rue des Vieux Chemins to-day to 
tell you about it, but I got caught in the crowd 
and couldn’t. The thing’s simple enough. You 
only have to watch at the Golden Bell until she 
comes.” 


®l)e iHob before tl)e temple ^otuer. 189 


Surto already had seized La Jacarasse by the 
sleeve and was drawing her away. “ Come along. 
Come along,” he said. “We’ll go right off to the 
House of Death and get the order. Good-bye, 
Citizen Calisto. If you happen to learn anything 
new, let us know.” 

“Of course 1 will,” Calisto answered heartily 
as he started for the Rue de Bretagne. But he 
walked slowly and looked around two or three 
times to make sure that Surto and La Jacarasse 
really had gone off in the direction of the Rue des 
Cordeliers. At last, being fairly well satisfied on 
this head, he went home. 

As he entered the house all the members of the 
little family came flocking around him. 

“Monsieur Calisto! where have you been.^” 
asked joy. “We didn’t know what to think! 
For more than an hour crowds of people have been 
passing, and their yells and shouts fairly froze the 
marrow in our bones! ” 

“We thought the house was coming down, 
the windows rattled so with the drums!” said 
Adeline. 

“ You mustn't get frightened at trifles,” Mon- 
sieur Calisto answered. He was greatly puffed up 
at seeing them all so dependent on him. 

“I’ve been hoping,” said Joy, “that it was 
our good King going back to his palace, carried in 
triumph by the people.” 

“Come, come, Joy,” said Lazuli, annoyed at 
the old woman’s persistence: “I’ve told you a 
dozen times already that that wasn’t possible. 
The dead never come back. Let your King stay 
where he is. He ought to be glad enough if he’s 
let alone. He may yet be taken where he doesn’t 
care to go! ” 

“Lazuli is right,” said Monsieur Calisto. 
13 


(Jbe terror. 


190 


“There is no King any more. The crowd that 
you heard was going to the Temple. It was ac- 
companying a Deputy sent by the Assembly to 
announce to Louis XVI. that the monarchy was 
abolished and that the Republic was proclaimed. 
Joy, my good woman, you can put on mourning 
if you like! ” 

Joy groaned. “Are you just back from the 
Temple ? ” she asked. 

“No, from much farther. I’ve been walking 
ever since I left here. I have been looking, as al- 
ways, for my master. I may say that I have been 
almost all around Paris. I went up toward Mont- 
martre, and I have just come back from near the 
saltpetre magazines.” 

“Have you heard any news of Monsieur le 
Comte ? ” Adeline asked. As she spoke she was 
thinking of her own father. 

“Alas, no. Mademoiselle la Comtessine. Yet 
for a moment I had hope. I heard that the stable- 
boy of the Golden Bell — a little inn off on the road 
of the Chevaleret — had hired a saddle-horse to an 
Aristocrat who wished to gain the Frontier. I cher- 
ished the fancy that it might be our dear Count 
who had been able thus to escape. And so I went 
up there to see the stable-boy and make inquiries.” 

“ What did he tell you ? ” 

“Not much — but enough to show me it could 
not be our good master who had hired the horse.” 

“ Poor Monsieur Calisto! How tired you must 
be! ” said Adeline in pitying tones, and she looked 
at him with her large soft eyes full of admiration. 

“Do not pity me. Mademoiselle la Comtessine,” 
said Calisto, taking her by the hand. “ If I did not 
get news of my good master, perhaps I have found 
a way for you all to go back to Avignon, even 
though the coach no longer runs.” 


QL\)c Mob before tl)e ®em|ile STotoer. 191 


‘‘Oh Monsieur Calisto, how good you are!” 
exclaimed Lazuli. “Then you were thinking 
of us ?” 

“lam always thinking of you. 1 know that 
Mademoiselle la^ Comtessine is anxious to return 
with you to Avignon, and I shall have no rest until 
I have found a way for her to go in good company 
and without danger.” 

Adeline and Lazuli could not say a word, but 
with wet eyes they kissed Monsieur Calisto’s 
honest hands. 

“ In the stables of the inn,” continued Calisto, 
“1 met more than fifty, nay, perhaps more than a 
hundred, carters from Languedoc and from Prov- 
ence. It is the place where Southerners generally 
put up. You can easily understand how glad I 
was to talk with those good fellows. One of them, 
who came from Barbentane, talked to me of the 
Marseilles Battalion which they had met not very 
far from Lyons. From one thing and another we 
talked on until I asked him when he expected to 
leave, and if he would be willing to take you in his 
cart. I asked him if he had a covered cart, and 
how cold it would be, and about the road, and 
how long it would take to go to Avignon — in 
short, 1 almost settled the matter with him. 1 
ended, however, by telling him that you, Mise 
Lazuli, would go to see him and would clinch the 
bargain if it is to your mind.” 

“And when shall we leave?” cried Adeline, 
jumping up and down like a little kid for very joy. 

“ Very soon. In four or five days at the latest.” 

“I’ll go to see him to-morrow,” said Lazuli, 
“and covered cart or no covered cart, we’ll strike 
a bargain and be off ! ” And she caught up Clairet 
and hugged him, and embraced Adeline, and again 
kissed Calisto’s hand. Only dear old Joy, at the 


192 


3ri)e (terror. 


thought of losing them, for once in her life looked 
utterly dismal. 

Adeline ran off to make up her bundle, and then 
came back to the garden to dance around it with 
Clairet, and then was off again to fuss over Lazuli’s 
things, and then back to the garden again to dance 
and sing 

Lou diable est malaut, 

S’es plan aquest vespre. 

The more practical Lazuli busied herself in learn- 
ing the exact road to the Golden Bell. It was a 
long way off, but she did not mind that. She 
willingly would have walked all day to clinch into 
a certainty this happy chance. 

“You had better not take Clairet,” said Calisto. 
“ It is too far for him. He’ll get tired and you will 
have to carry him in your arms.” 

“No, you must not take Clairet,” said Adeline. 
“But you will take me, won’t you. Lazuli.? If I 
can see the very cart that we are going in 1 shall 
feel as though 1 saw dear Avignon and all its 
towns ! ” 

“God forbid that you should go along! ” Lazuli 
answered. “Suppose we should fall in with La 
Jacarasse! ” 

“ No, no. Mademoiselle la Comtessine,” said 
Calisto, “you surely will not dream of such im- 
prudence.” And then, turning to Lazuli, he con- 
tinued : “ The cart must be a covered one, and you 
must bargain with the carter that he is to call for 
you here. In a covered cart you will be entirely 
hidden. Once inside of it you may cross all Paris 
without a soul seeing you, and get away from the 
city in absolute safety.” 

“You are a hundred times right. Monsieur 
Calisto,” Lazuli answered. And again she kissed 
his hand. 


®l)e iltob before tl)e S^emple Corner. 193 


Excepting Joy, they all passed an evening of 
delightful anticipation. They even went at their 
packing and finished it — although as yet they 
had not even laid eyes on the carter with whom 
their bargain to take them to Avignon was to be 
made. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


LAZULI IS THROWN TO THE WOLVES. 

Lazuli rose at daylight, dressed herself silently 
and swiftly, and went very quietly down the stairs. 
But Monsieur Calisto, who left little to chance when 
arranging matters for his friends, had risen still 
earlier and was waiting for her that he might say 
a last word. 

With a painstaking exactness he repeated his 
directions for finding the Golden Bell, and then, 
before opening the door for her, he gave her still 
another piece of intelligent advice. She must make 
a point of seeing the stable-boy, he said. If by 
any accident he happened to be out, she must wait 
for him — for he alone could tell her the carter’s 
name and could find him for her. And she must 
not be discouraged, he added, if the other people 
at the inn told her that they knew nothing about 
the carter. They were a stupid lot. But the 
stable-boy was not stupid. She had only to see 
him to be set in the right way. And this, from 
Monsieur Calisto’s standpoint, was quite true — for 
the longer that she looked for the stable-boy the 
better would be the chance of her falling in with 
Surto and La Jacarasse. 

Lazuli listened to all this advice somewhat im- 
patiently, for she was in a hurry to be off — and 
when it was finished, and the door opened, she 
shot away like an arrow from a bow. For a mo- 

194 


£a^ttli is ®l)rott)n ta tl)e tt 3 olt)es. 195 


ment Monsieur Calisto stood watching her as she 
walked rapidly down the Rue de Bretagne. Then, 
as he closed and fastened the door behind her, he 
said to himself, pleasantly: “ Well, she’ll never see 
the inside of this door again ! ” And he smiled an 
entirely satisfied smile. 

As though on wings of joy, Lazuli walked on 
as lightly as a bird. She followed the Rue Saint 
Louis to the Rue Saint-Antoine, and there turned 
and crossed close by the Impasse Guemenee. She 
was sorry to pass the Planchof s without going in 
to say good morning to them, but she was in far 
too great a hurry for visiting until she should have 
seen the Barbentane carter and made sure that he 
would take them back to Avignon. I will stop on 
my way home, she thought ; and so hurried on 
across the Place du Faubourg de Gloire and down 
by the road leading to the counterscarp ; and then, 
being come to the Seine, addressed herself briskly 
to the ferry-man: “Good morning, citizen,” she 
said. “ Please ferry me across.” 

“You seem in a great hurry, my pretty early 
bird,” the ferryman answered; and he looked at 
her with kindly eyes — as though, in spite of his 
rough face and his big coarse nose and his bristly 
eyebrows, he were sorry for her. 

“Why do you look at me like that.?” she de- 
manded in some little confusion. “I only want 
you to take me quickly over to the other side.” 

“Excuse me, citizen, but isn’t your name La- 
zuli.? ’’the ferryman asked, evidently speaking in 
the gentlest voice that he could manage so that he 
might not frighten her. 

“ Who in the world could have told you my 
name.?” said Lazuli, as she took her place in the 
boat. 

“I am right then. Very well, now just you 


196 


^[)c (terror. 


do what I say, citizen. Go back whence you 
came, and go as quickly as you can. Here you 
are in great danger.” 

“What nonsense! You are making fun of 
me.” 

“I am not making fun of you. I am sorry 
for you.” 

“There, there — even if I am only a woman, I 
am not afraid of anybody.” 

“Man or woman, you ought to be afraid of 
some one who is watching for you now! ” 

“You, you mean — What do you want with 
me, you wretch ?” 

“No, no, citizen, I am not a wretch. I want 
to save you.” 

“Tell me, then, plainly what you mean. Of 
whom should I be afraid?” 

“ Of La Jacarasse.” 

“ La Jacarasse! Where is she?” 

Without turning to point, the ferryman an- 
swered: “ Look behind me, up there on the bank 
of the river, and you will see a little inn called 
‘ Les Mousquetaires.’ She is standing in the door- 
way watching you. Her man, Surto, is waiting 
for you on the other side of the river. They have 
a warrant for your arrest. If they catch you, it is 
death. I know ail this because when Surto came 
to the ferry he asked me if I had seen you; and 
when I said no, he made La Jacarasse give him the 
warrant and then ordered me to set him across. 
He is in waiting for you on the other bank, while 
his wife is here to cut off your escape on this side. 
Your only chance is to run for it. If you’ve got 
good legs you may get off.” 

What the man said was quite true. As Lazuli 
looked up toward the inn she saw La jacarasse 
lumbering toward her, heavily but swiftly. To 


Ca^uli is ^litotDU to tl)c tX 3 oltjes. 197 


run for it was indeed her only chance. Before the 
ferryman had finished she had jumped out of the 
boat and was off — while La Jacarasse came pelting 
along in her wake screaming at the top of her voice : 
“Stop her! stop her!” 

The ferryman made a feint of joining in the 
chase, but presently managed to stumble and fall 
sprawling. Picking himself up slowly, he went 
back to his boat, saying: “Catch her if you can! 
She’s not a woman — she’s a gazelle! ” 

La Jacarasse kept on running, but she also kept 
on losing ground. Up the road from the counter- 
scarp the two women rushed at full speed, their 
petticoats flapping, their hair streaming, and La 
Jacarasse shouting “Stop the Aristocrat! Stop 
her! Stop her!” at the top of her lungs. In re- 
sponse to this outcry — ^just as Lazuli dashed out 
upon the Place de Gloire — some sans-culottes came 
hurrying forward and barred her way. And in 
spite of her beseechings, and of her protestations 
that she was the wife of a Marseilles Federal, they 
insisted upon holding h6r fast until the whole mat- 
ter should be explained. 

La jacarasse came up dripping with sweat, and 
so nearly blown that she scarcely could gasp out: 
“ This woman is an Aristocrat. I have a warrant 
for her arrest.” 

“ Let’s see the warrant,” said one of the sans- 
culottes. 

“ I haven’t it with me,” La Jacarasse answered. 
“ My man has it. He’ll be here right away.” 

“I suppose you know,” said the sans-culotte, 
“that we are a Republic now, and that no arrests 
can be made without a warrant written and signed 
by a Deputy to the National Convention ? ” 

“ Of course I know it. And that’s the kind of 
warrant I have,” answered La Jacarasse. “You 


198 


terror. 


shall see for yourselves as soon as my man gets 
here.” 

She turned toward the river, fully expecting 
Surto to be in sight. But Surto was not in sight. 
Thanks to the kind ferryman, he was safe on the 
other side of the Seine — where he was yelling like 
a stuck pig for the boat, while the ferryman was 
going through the forms of binding up a simulated 
hurt that was supposed to be the result of his 
simulated fall. When he thought that he had 
given Lazuli ample time to get away, he brought 
his sham surgery to an end slowly; and slowly 
poled across the river for Surto and still more 
slowly poled back again. 

Actually, this long delay did give Lazuli another 
chance; for the sans-culottes — tired of waiting for 
the warrant to arrive, and firm in their new-born 
Republican doctrine that an arrest could not be 
made save by some form of law — let her go free 
again, and at the same time cautioned La Jacarasse 
not to interfere with her. 

At this turn in her favour. Lazuli was off again 
like a deer. But La Jacarasse started after her, in 
spite of the cries of the men, and so the flight and 
the chase began all over again. This time, how- 
ever, the odds were on Lazuli’s side — for she was 
a far better runner than La Jacarasse and fear 
seemed to give her wings. She rushed across the 
Place du Faubourg de Gloire, darted into the Rue 
des Tournelles, thence into the Rue du Pas de la 
Mule, and thence, cutting through the Rue Saint 
Louis, she was in the Rue de Bretagne, and in 
another moment had seized the knocker of the 
door which Calisto had closed after her less than 
an hour before. 

La Jacarasse had been left well behind. In- 
deed, when Lazuli turned into the Rue Saint Louis 


£a^ttli is ®l]rou)n to tl)c tXtobes. 199 


her pursuer had been out of sight. But it was 
certain she could not be far off, and for some ter- 
ribly anxious moments Lazuli stood before the 
closed door trembling — and then, to her infinite 
relief, she heard Joy’s footsteps coming, and then 
the door was opened and she darted through the 
doorway and was safe inside the house before La 
Jacarasse had appeared. In the hall she stood 
panting, out of breath, trembling all over. 

“Heavens!” exclaimed joy, “what on earth 
is the matter with you ? ” 

“ Nothing, Joy,” Lazuli answered. “ Nothing, 
except that I’ve been walking too fast. That’s all. 
1 wanted to get back soon, you know.” 

“Well, you’ve done it!” said Joy. “Why 
you must have run the whole way to be back here 
by this time. It’s the end of the world where you 
went. You must be dead beat!” And Joy ad- 
ministered a series of mild reproaches to Lazuli as 
she followed her into the garden where Adeline 
was playing with Clairet. 

From the window of his little room beneath 
the stairs Monsieur Calisto had seen Lazuli’s 
entrance, and was biting his lips with vexation 
because of the miscarriage of his plan. But he 
remained in silent concealment until he should 
hear what explanations would be made. 

As Lazuli descended the steps into the garden 
Adeline ran up to her and caught her in her arms, 
exclaiming: “ Oh how good of you to come back 
so soon.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” Lazuli answered at ran- 
dom. “ You see, 1 was in a hurry.” 

“ And what did the Barbentane carter say to 
you.? — but sit down and rest,” said Adeline, who 
saw Lazuli turn pale and felt her beginning to 
tremble in her arms. 


200 


®:i)e Qicvtox. 


“ I haven’t seen him at all,” Lazuli replied, and 
she fell back on the bench and looked as though 
she would faint. 

“You haven’t seen him.?^” cried Adeline. 
“And you are pale and almost fainting! Heavens, 
Lazuli! What has happened? What has gone 
wrong ?” 

At this outcry Clairet dropped his wheel-barrow 
and came whimpering to his mother’s knees, while 
Joy flung her hands above her head and rushed 
off to the kitchen crying “Vinegar! Vinegar!” 
— in much the tone that she might have cried 
“ Fire! ” 

The thought that she must soothe Clairet helped 
to quiet Lazuli, and so did the vinegar when joy 
brought it in a cup and bathed her temples with 
it while Adeline fanned her. Neither of them ven- 
tured to question her, but presently of her own 
accord she began to tell what had happened to 
her. 

“ I didn’t see the Barbentane carter,” she said, 
“because 1 never got anywheres near the Golden 
Bell. And the reason why I didn’t get there was 
that I was stopped by La Jacarasse! ” 

At this, Adeline and joy cried out together in 
horror, and Lazuli went on : 

“ It was at the river. There was a good ferry- 
man who warned me. He said that Surto and La 
jacarasse were both there waiting to arrest me — 
La jacarasse on this side of the river and Surto on 
the other^ — and that Surto had a warrant to arrest 
me. He told me not to cross the river at all but 
to run for home as hard as I could go — and he 
showed me La jacarasse standing on the watch 
for me up by Les Mousquetaires. And 1 did run, 
and that fat old thing never could have come near 
me if it had rested between her legs and mine. 


Ca^nli is (Jliroron ta tl)e toobes. 


201 


But when she saw that she never could come up 
with me she took to yelling ‘ Stop her! Stop her! ’ 
— and calling out that 1 was a runaway Aristocrat, 
and at that some sans-culottes caught me and held 
me fast till she came.” 

Joy wrung her hands at this, and Adeline 
turned very pale. The thought of Lazuli held fast 
by sans-culottes till La jacarasse should come and 
catch her was so dreadful that they could not 
speak. 

“Well, it wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Lazuli 
went on. “You see, things are not the same 
under a Republic as they used to be under a 
monarchy. Folks can’t be arrested nowadays 
without a warrant. That’s what the sans-culottes 
said to La jacarasse, and they said that if she hadn’t 
a warrant they’d let me go. She told them that 
Surto had the warrant, and that he’d be there in a 
minute or two. But he wasn’t there in a minute 
or two, or in ten ; and at last the sans-culottes said 
that as 1 was the wife of a Marseilles Federal, and 
looked all right, and La jacarasse hadn’t a warrant, 
and the man she said had one didn’t show up, 
they didn’t mean to stand there all day holding 
me and 1 might go right along home. They told 
La jacarasse she must let me alone, but they didn’t 
bother themselves much about us one way or the 
other, and she did come right on after me, and 
I started off again on a run.” 

Adeline and joy had begun to breathe freely 
when they found that Lazuli had been let loose 
by the sans-culottes; but when they found that 
she was let loose only to have La jacarasse at 
her heels once more, their breath again came 
short. 

“ But that time 1 really did get safe away,” she 
said, hastening to reassure them. “ La jacarasse 


202 


®lie terror. 


has good long legs, but she's too fat to have any 
wind, and too heavy to run. She yelled again to 
have me arrested, but nobody paid any attention 
to her, and by the time 1 got to the Pas de la Mule 
I was out of sight ahead of her. But I kept on 
running all the same, and never stopped till I got 
to our own door — and it did seem a whole age be- 
fore Joy came and opened it and 1 got in ! ” 

“Well,” said joy, when she and Adeline had 
congratulated Lazuli upon her escape, “those two 
wretches must have the help of the devil their 
master. How in the world could they have 
known that you meant to cross the river to- 
day ? ” 

“It is odd that they should have been there,” 
said Adeline, struck by the astuteness of this com- 
ment. “ Nobody knew that you were going ex- 
cept good Monsieur Calisto and ourselves.” 

Calisto, listening at his window, did not at all 
like the turn the conversation was taking. He 
shuddered as Adeline pronounced his name. But 
he was set at his ease again in a moment as Lazuli 
said: “Very likely it was the carter. Those Bar- 
bentane folks have their tongues hung in the mid- 
dle. Like enough he has been chattering in some 
inn.” 

“Well, no harm’s come of it,” said Joy, “and 
for that we ought to thank God. All you have 
to do now is to rest and cool off your blood. 
I’ll go and get you something strengthening to 
drink.” 

But before old Joy could rise, Adeline was on 
her feet exclaiming: “I’ve got the very thing for 
you. Lazuli — that beautiful bottle of pink liqueur, 
you know, that Monsieur Calisto brought me the 
other day to drink on our journey. It is just what 
you need. I’ll get it right away,” 


Ca^uli is S^firotDU to tlie tOobes. 203 


Adeline flew off like a little whirlwind — along 
the path, up the steps, through the passage, up the 
stairway, and across the salon to the bedroom be- 
yond. But the bottle was packed for the journey, 
and some little time passed before she could get at 
it; and just as she had it in her hand, and was 
starting to run back with it, the knocker of the 
front door went bang! bang! bang! 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE KNIFE AGAIN TESTIFIES. 

Adeline stopped short in the middle of the room 
and listened. In another minute she heard Joy’s 
footsteps in the lower passage, and then the open- 
ing of the door. An instant later she heard a harsh 
voice — a voice that she knew only too well — ask- 
ing: “Where’s Calisto ? I must see Calisto this 
very minute! Tell him it’s La Jacarasse.” 

joy evidently was so struck aghast that she 
could not speak. For a moment there was silence, 
and then Adeline heard Calisto saying: “Don’t 
make such a noise, you drunken animal. I’m 
here. What do you want with me ? ” And then 
she heard him hurry along the passage toward the 
door, and heard Joy hurry away to her kitchen 
and bolt herself in — and taking a leaf from Joy’s 
book she ran into the “bedroom, bolted the door 
behind her, and hid herself between the bed and 
the wall. As for Lazuli, she still was seated qui- 
etly on the bench in the garden, with Clairet be- 
side her, and knew nothing of the storm that was 
so near at hand. 

La Jacarasse pushed her way along the passage 
and up the stair. “The drunken animal has some- 
thing to say to you,” she said to Calisto furiously. 
“If I’m a drunken animal, what are you.? You 
sneak! you hound! ” 

“There, there,” Calisto answered disdainfully. 

204 


Hnifc again S^estifics. 


205 


“No doubt you’re just fresh from some tavern. 
Come along into the salon. There’s no good let- 
ting Joy hear you braying like an ass.” And as he 
spoke he pushed her into the salon and closed the 
door. 

La Jacarasse stood up in front of Calisto, crossed 
her arms so that her big basket hung over her am- 
ple paunch, and looked him straight in the eyes. 
She frowned, her nostrils quivered, her jaws worked 
and she sputtered out: “Yes, I’m a drunken ani- 
mal! I’m an old jade! I’m everything that’s mean 
and rotten and bad. Go right ahead. Spit it all 
out! But all the same, just don’t we make a nice 
pair ? 

“You have betrayed and robbed and murdered 
— and so have we! You sold your master the 
Count — just as Surto and I sold our Marquis! You 
stripped and robbed him — and that’s what we did 
too! You murdered him, you cut his throat, three 
times you stuck your knife into your Comte de la 
Vernede’s throat — and we pounded the life out of 
our Marquis d’Ambrun with an iron bar. And 
now, you scum of rottenness, you’re for cheating 
us out of our winnings just because you want our 
Marquis’ daughter for your trollop, and you have 
the cheek to call me a drunken animal when I 
come to get what’s my own! But that white 
flower is not for you to gather, cullion that you 
are! Now I know where she is — that you have 
her hidden here in this very house — I’ll settle that 
for you. We have our order of arrest for her, and 
with us she goes! ” And La jacarasse came a step 
closer to Calisto and glared into his eyes. 

The situation was a trying one for Calisto., He 
endeavoured — a little weakly, perhaps — to lessen 
the strain of it with a joke. “The barmaid to-day 
must have taken down the wrong bottle,” he said. 
14 


2o6 


(SI)c ^Jerror. 


“She’s given you pure vinegar instead of the Car- 
tagena you like so much.” 

“ She gave me a drink,” La Jacarasse answered, 
“that opened my eyes for me — for it made me see 
that you, the murderer of the Comte de la Ver- 
nede, are hiding here in your house the daughter 
of the Marquis d’Ambrun! ” 

“Murderer.?” retorted Calisto. “Who says 
I’m a murderer ? Who saw me murder anybody ? 
Who would believe me capable of murder.? As 
to you and your Surto, one has only to look at 
you to see what you are. Your crimes are written 
on your faces — and will remain written there until 
you belch out your black souls. 

“And what nonsense is this that you are talk- 
ing about Adeline’s being hidden here .? Are you 
in your dotage.? You’ve got a scorpion under 
your tongue. You are talking like a drunken 
fool. Get out of my house. I’ve had enough of 
all this. 1 don’t know why I’ve been so patient 
with you. Clear out — clear out before 1 kick the 
life out of you and throw your carrion carcass into 
the street!” 

“1 know that you are a coward,” howled La 
Jacarasse as she drew a long knife out of her bag, 
“but no man, nor no two men, can frighten me! 
If you stir. I’ll stick this knife into you! It’s the 
very same knife you stuck three times over into 
your master’s throat. Look at it! Look at it. I 
say! It’s the very one you used. Here are the 
blood stains still on it; and see, here are some 
white hairs still sticking to it — the white hair of 
your old master! The point is gone, and it’s all 
nicked and jagged, but it’s still sharp enough to 
cut with — and if you take a step forward, if you 
dare to touch me. I’ll bleed you as I’ve bled many 
another hog!” 


®l}e Knife again (testifies. 


20/ 


La Jacarasse was quite correct in her assertion 
that Calisto was a coward — and as the furious 
woman rushed out her words at him and flour- 
ished the knife close to his eyes he went as pale 
as dough and his teeth chattered. 

“Hush! Hush!” he said, speaking with diffi- 
culty. “I told you not to talk so loud. We’re 
good friends, surely ? We’ve promised never to 
betray each other. We mustn’t spoil everything 
now. What is done is done forever. Put away 
that knife. What devil gave it to you 

“Oh ho! So I’m no longer a drunken animal, 
eh ? You’ve got back to your smooth little ways, 
have you ? Butter won’t melt in your mouth now, 
will it ? And we still are good friends, and you 
want to know where 1 got this knife ? Well, I’ll 
tell you. This knife with which you killed your 
master was found in the cellar of the cabaret in the 
Pas de la Mule. I stopped there for a drink just 
now. I’d lost sight of Lazuli, and I couldn’t take 
another step. I was about dead beat chasing her. 
They found the knife when they went to get me a 
bottle of wine in the cellar. I knew it as soon as I 
laid eyes on it. You’ve forgotten, I suppose, how 
you flourished it around in our house one day. 
And, as I knew it, I got them to give it to me 
against the time when I'd have to cut your tongue 
out because you wagged it too much. Now you 
know.” . 

“ But ” Calisto began. 

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. It was as I 
came out of the cabaret that I met a ‘ knitting- 
woman ’ who gave you dead away to me. ‘ See 
here, citizen,’ says she, ‘ the girl you tried to grab 
on the Place du Faubourg de Gloire went into the 
house of the ci-devant Comte de la ’Vernede.’ 
How was that, eh ? Wasn’t that a dead give- 


2o8 


^\)c QLcxrox. 


away ? That’s how I know for certain sure that 
you’re hiding her here — and if you’re hiding her 
you’re hiding Adeline too. And you needn’t try 
to say you’re not — you stink-pot of lies! ” 

It is quite possible,” said Calisto in a friendly 
tone, “quite possible, that Lazuli may have stopped 
here to say a word to old Joy. They knew each 
other down in Avignon, and I believe that now 
and then she does come here to see joy and have 
a dish of talk. But to say that she drops in once 
in a while that way is a mighty long way off from 
saying that I'm hiding her here and hiding Adeline 
too. That’s all moonshine — and I’ll prove it to 
you. I’ll take you all over the house and you shall 
see for yourself. We’ll begin right here.” 

As he spoke, Calisto tried to open the door of 
the room in which Adeline lay hidden between 
the bed and the wall, almost dead with fright. 
He had not the least notion that she was there, 
and could hear all he had been saying. He thought 
her in the garden with Lazuli. 

Fortunately the bolt held and the door did not 
open. And, still more fortunately. La jacarasse 
was not disposed, after her experience that morn- 
ing, to accept Calisto’s offer just then. “No, 
no,” she said, “ not now. I don’t want to search 
your house now. When I'm readv for that I’ll 
come cocked and primed with my order of arrest, 
and I’ll bring the right sort of people with me to 
put the job through. I’m not going to be fooled 
again as I was fooled this morning. The next 
time I lay hands on those jades I’m going to hang 
on to ’em ! And just you remember another thing, 
my little man : this hiding business is played out. 
Don’t think you can get around us by hiding ’em 
somewhere else. You can’t. If they’re not here 
when I come back for ’em, with Surto and some 


Hnifc again 


209 


Patriots of the Session to help me, we’ll just grab 
you — and off you’ll go to the Abbaye, and you 
know what'll happen to you there! Now you 
know how things stand atwixt us, and I'm off! ” 
And La Jacarasse lumbered out of the room and 
down the stairway, still in a towering passion yet 
with a grim playfulness flourishing her knife about 
Calisto’s ears. Calisto followed her, his jaws chat- 
tering at such a rate that he could not speak a 
word. 

At the street door she turned upon him for a 
final word, saying half contemptuously: “If you 
care for your skin, you rotten coward, you know 

what you’ve got to do to keep it on ” and 

off she went as though the devil himself car- 
ried her. 

Calisto gave two turns to the big key and 
slipped it into his pocket, and then put up the 
chain. Having thus made sure that no one could 
enter the house or leave it, he tore up into his 
room. And there, trembling with fear and anger, 
he set himself to cudgelling his brains for some 
way of deliverance from the strait in which he 
found himself between the devil and the deep sea. 

When the street door clanged behind La Jaca- 
rasse, followed by the rattle of the lock and the 
jingle of the chain, Adeline came out from her 
hiding place. She moved quietly and calmly. The 
calamity that had been revealed to her was so over- 
whelming that she was numbed. 

■ In a moment she had learned everything of the 
evil that had come upon her in the past and of the 
evil that threatened her. Her father was dead, 
murdered by Surto and La jacarasse. These two 
held orders of arrest for herself and for Lazuli. Ca- 
listo, who had posed as their protector, was him- 
self a robber and a murderer — and was restrained 


210 


QL[)c terror. 


only by some worse purpose of his own from de- 
livering her into those wretches’ hands. 

With these awful thoughts crushing her, she 
opened the door gently and gently tip-toed across 
the salon; but as she came to the stair — down 
which but a few moments before her open and her 
covert enemy had passed together — a sharp reali- 
zation of her peril struck a quicker fear into her 
that overcame her stupor. Dashing down the stair, 
she ran through the passage and out into the gar- 
den — with the feeling that La Jacarasse was close 
behind her clutching at her skirts — and with a 
gasping sob cast herself into Lazuli’s arms. 

“What is it.^ What is it, child ” cried La- 
zuli, herself growing pale and trembling at seeing 
Adeline so distraught with fear. 

“ We are lost! ” Adeline answered with a pite- 
ous moan. 

“ What do you mean ? Speak ! Speak 1 ” 

“ La Jacarasse has been here! ” 

At this extravagant speech Lazuli pulled her- 
self together a little. “Nonsense, child,” she 
said, “ your fright has set you crazy! ” 

“ La jacarasse was here, I tell you. She knows 
that we are here. My father is dead. They have 
•killed him.” 

“ My poor little one, you have gone wild. You 
don't know what you are saying.” 

“ 1 do know what 1 am saying. I heard her. 
She is coming back with Surto to take us away ! ” 
“ You heard her ? Who was she talking to ?•” 
“To Monsieur Calisto. He is a murderer too! ” 
“You are quite crazy! ” 

“He stabbed the Comte de la Vernede. He 
killed his good master with his own hand! ” 

“ That is impossible! ” 

“It is not impossible. La jacarasse had his 


Hnife again (testifies. 


2n 


knife with her. The bloody knife with the white 
hairs that Joy showed us. They were the white 
hairs of Monsieur de la Vernede. Don’t you re- 
member how like Joy said they were ? ” Adeline’s 
voice sank to a horrified whisper, and again she 
moaned. 

Lazuli was completely puzzled. “Was Joy 
with you when you heard all this ? ” she asked. 

“No, no. 1 was alone. I was hid between 
the bed and the wall. Monsieur Calisto and La 
Jacarasse were out in the salon, throwing their 
crimes at each other. I heard every word.” 

“ What became of La Jacarasse ? ” 

“Monsieur Calisto went down stairs with her 
and let her out of the front door. She has gone to 
get Surto and the sans-culottes to come and arrest 
us. We are lost — lost! ” 

“ But what did Monsieur Calisto say to all this ? ” 
“At first he blustered, but La Jacarasse said 
that she would kill him. And then he told her 
that he was her good friend. He, the murderer 
of his own kind master, will deliver us up. La 
Jacarasse told him as she went away that if he 
tried to hide us anywhere else, if we were not here 
when she and Surto came back for us, that they’d 
arrest him in our place and take him off to the Ab- 
baye. Oh, do believe me, Lazuli. Every word 
that I tell you is true.” 

Lazuli did believe her. There was too much of 
circumstantial exactness in what Adeline told for 
her to doubt its truth. Moreover, it all fitted into 
the suspicions which had pressed upon her the 
very first night that they passed in the house in 
the Rue de Bretagne; which had faded away as 
time went on without confirming them, but which 
had been aroused again that very morning when 
she found Surto and La Jacarasse in wait for her 


212 


®l)c terror. 


on the river banks. She was a quick woman and 
a brave one. Everything was clear to her in a 
moment. What Adeline told her threw bright 
daylight down to the very bottom of the gulf that 
was open at their feet. Therefore her voice had in 
it both conviction and a grave note of courage as 
she spoke. 

“ I do believe you,” she said. “ And now, my 
darling, you must be strong and brave too. If Ca- 
listo had the least hint that we knew anything of 
all this we would indeed be lost. You must be 
bright and gay, as though you knew nothing. 
Even before Joy you must hide your real feelings. 
Promise me you will do just what 1 tell you to do, 
and I promise you that before this time to-morrow 
we shall be safe out of this house for good and all.” 

“ I promise you. Lazuli,” Adeline answered. 

“Very well. And now we’ll begin to show 
what good spirits we're in by having a dance with 
Clairet.” And they ran together to where the 
child was playing with his wheel-barrow, and 
taking his hands they danced around as though 
they were the happiest creatures in the world — all 
three singing : 

Old Nick is ailing, 

He’s complaining to-night! 

Poor old Joy, still shaking with fright up in her 
kitchen, heard the laughter and the merry song — 
and at these cheering sounds all her terrors went 
away. After all, thought the simple soul, the visit 
of La Jacarasse to Monsieur Calisto meant nothing. 
She was an old fool to get into such a panic over 
it. And then the singing kept on cheering her, 
and the lively tune to tickling her frolicsome old 
heels, until presently she came smiling out of her 
kitchen and trotted down into the garden and 
joined the dance. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A NIGHT OF DREAD. 

Meanwhile Monsieur Calisto, shut up in his 
room, his head buried in his hands, was having a 
very bad quarter of an hour. “Now they all must 
know everything ! ” he said to himself. “Joy saw 
Lajacarasse come. Very likely she listened. Even 
if she didn’t listen, Lajacarasse yelled so that the 
whole neighbourhood might have heard her. Cer- 
tainly Joy must have heard more than enough to 
ruin me — and she will tell it all to Lazuli and to 
Mademoiselle la Comtessine! The game is up! 
Likely enough this evening, certainly not later than 
to-morrow morning. La Jacarasse and Surto will 
be here with their damned patriots — and then 
good-bye, my Adeline! As to Lazuli, it will be 
a good riddance if they do carry her off. But to 
lose my Adeline, and to lose her fortune too, that 
is bitter, bitter hard! ” 

And just as Monsieur Calisto got to this most 
dismal point in his reflections there came ringing 
up to him gaily from the garden 

Old Nick is ailing. 

He’s complaining to-night! 

As he heard the voices of Lazuli and Adeline, 
clear and gay, and the sound of their laughter, it 
seemed as though a cool refreshing wind was 
blowing on his forehead; and when, a minute or 
so later, he heard old Joy’s voice joining in the 

213 


214 


®l)c S^error. 


song his black fears rolled up like a curtain and 
sunshine came again. “ After all, they know noth- 
ing! ” he cried exultantly. “ What an ass 1 was to 
get into such a stew! ” And having come to this 
comforting conclusion he carefully dusted away 
the powder that had fallen on his silk catogan and 
on his saffron coat, and so went down into the 
garden — clapping his hands in applause and call- 
ing out cheerily Bravo! Bravo! Dance and en- 
joy yourselves! All goes well! ” 

But Joy was so full of curiosity that she could 
not keep silence. She stopped her dancing, and 
with something of an air of mystery asked: “Tell 
me, Monsieur Calisto, did you pack off that woman 
as she deserved ? ” 

“Oh yes, a good while ago,” Calisto answered 
easily, as if the matter were of little consequence. 

“Well, I’m glad of it,” said Joy. “The old 
tarasque was as drunk -as a fiddler and her tongue 
was going like the clapper of a bell.” 

“Who came here.^” asked Lazuli, in the most 
natural way possible. 

“That dirty drab,” Calisto answered. 

Lazuli smiled as she turned to Joy and said: 
“ Do j^ou know who it was — this dirty drab 

“ Oh yes,” said Joy, “it was La Jacarasse.” 

“ What in the world did she want here ? Sure- 
ly she did not know we were here, did she?” 
And as she spoke Lazuli took Adeline’s hand and 
pressed it, for at the mention of La Jacarasse Ade- 
line had drawn close to her side. 

“How could she know There is nobody 
to tell her,” said Calisto sharply; and then in a 
smoother voice went on: “No, but she did come 
here to ask about you, Mise Lazuli. She said that 
she had followed you from the river into this part 
of the town, and wanted to know if by any chance 


^ of Hlrcab. 


215 


I knew where you lived. She said quite openly 
that she wanted to arrest you. But when 1 asked 
her why, she answered : ‘ Oh, I’ve nothing against 
Lazuli, but if 1 could get hold of her I could make 
her tell what she has done with Mademoiselle Ade- 
line. It looks bad, you know, that 1 lost Made- 
moiselle Adeline after her mother putting her in 
my charge.’ And so she went maundering on — 
she was as drunk as she could be to talk at all — 
until 1 stopped her short and turned her out of 
doors. For a while 1 was afraid that she might 
see you out here in the garden, or hear your voices ; 
but as she was too drunk to pay much attention to 
anything and as 1 got rid of her so soon, there is 
no reason. Mademoiselle, why you should feel in 
the least alarmed. So forget all about this nasty 
visitor, and go on 'with your dance.” Having fin- 
ished this assuring speech. Monsieur Calisto made 
his three bows, took the hand of the Comtessine 
and kissed it, and then went back very cheerfully 
to his private den — where he set himself to think- 
ing out a plan by which he could turn over Lazuli 
and Clairet to La Jacarasse, and at the same time 
keep Adeline for his very own. 

“He’s right, is Monsieur Calisto,” Joy said as 
he left them. “What’s the use of getting into a 
fever over that dirty baggage ? She got in once, 
but she won’t get in again. From this time on, 
when anybody knocks I’ll peep out before 1 open. 
And if she comes back it’ll be a long while she’s 
kept waiting before 1 open the door!” and with 
this declaration the old woman went back to her 
kitchen and busied herself with her pots and pans. 
But perhaps Joy would not have spoken with quite 
so much assurance had she known that the door 
about which she was talking was double-locked, 
and that the key was in Monsieur Calisto’s pocket 


2i6 


QL\)c (terror. 


— that neither she nor any of the rest of the family 
could get out any more than La Jacarasse could 
get in! 

When Adeline and Lazuli once more were alone 
together in the garden they looked at each other 
piteously and their eyes filled with tears. But La- 
zuli was of a resolute nature and she pulled their 
melancholy up short. 

“You must be brave, my child,” she said, 
“and I must be brave too. Ifs a long lane that 
has no turning, and we cannot be far from the turn 
in ours. But we must make the turn for ourselves. 
Before La Jacarasse can get back here, before that 
murderer Calisto can take us in a fresh snare, we 
must get away from this house.” 

“Yes, we must get away,” Adeline answered 
resolutely. “And I’ll be brave. Lazuli, don’t you 
fear. I’d rather wander in the streets and beg my 
food than stay here under the same roof with that 
man who has killed his master.” 

“Well, we needn’t wander in the streets nor 
take to begging,” said Lazuli smiling. “The 
Planchots won’t let us do that.” 

“But we cannot go to the Planchots. Calisto 
and La Jacarasse and Surto certainly would look 
for us there the very first place of all.” 

“Yes,” replied Lazuli, “that is true enough; 
but even if the Planchots cannot take us into their 
house they still can do a good deal for us. They 
can start us on our road to Provence — and, if need 
be, step by step we’ll walk on till we come once 
more to Avignon.” 

“But you forget about Clairet, Lazuli. With 
Clairet we cannot walk.” 

“We won’t stop to think about Clairet now. 
The first thing to think about is how we’re to get 
out of this house. Once out of it, the good God 


% Mgl)! 0f ?Drcab. 


217 


who comforted the blessed Mary Magdalen will 
care for us. He will see that our steps do not fail.” 
And with that Lazuli began to sing softly : 

“ Mary Magdalen walked weeping. 

By the way she met Saint John — 

Is our Christ his watch still keeping ? 

Tell me that he is not gone! ” 

Adeline’s sweet young voice joined in the sing- 
ing, and with the last verse of this Provencal prayer 
they felt comforted and strengthened: 

“ I will soothe all pain and sorrow, 

1 will dry all weeping eyes ; 

And my chosen shall to-morrow 
Fare with me to Paradise! ” 

As they ceased singing the two women crossed 
themselves, and Lazuli said : “ Here's twilight come 
at last, and no Planchofs wife. Oh if only she knew 
the trouble we’re in, and how glad we’d be to have 
her help us! ” 

“She still may be here — see how rosy that 
cloud overhead is,’’ Adeline said hopefully. 

“No, child, it’s too late for her now. Look at 
the way the sparrows are flying and hear them 
chirping good night to each other. See, they are 
going to roost in the ivy. No, she won’t be here 
to-day.” 

The rosy cloud slowly turned to red, and for a 
moment was bordered with a dazzlingly bright 
line. Suddenly the brightness vanished and the 
cloud was a dark cold gray. And then through 
the trees of the garden, through the box and laurel 
bushes and the ivy and all the things growing 
there, there seemed to go a sharp shiver — and 
night had shut down upon the earth. 

Through the afternoon Clairet had been busily 
employed with his wheel-barrow making what 
he called a farm. As the dusk thus came down 


®l)e terror. 


218 


Lazuli rose from the bench and called to him. 
“Come Clairet, come,” she cried. “You have 
played long enough now, you can finish your 
farm to-morrow.” 

“Yes, I’m coming. But 1 must get just one 
more barrowful of earth for my melon bed.” 

“No, you must come now. Ifs night, and 
we’re going into the house. If you don’t come, 
you’ll be left here all alone.” 

“Don’t go leave me,” Clairet said anxiously. 
“I’ll be afraid all alone.” 

“Never mind, Clairet dear. I’ll wait for you,” 
said Adeline. But Lazuli added: “Clairet, if you 
don’t come right off I’ll tell Joy not to give you 
any jam.” And at this terrible threat he dropped 
his wheel-barrow in a hurry and they all went 
into the house. 

Their supper was a cheerless one. In spite of 
Joy’s entreaties and the blandishments of Monsieur 
Calisto, the two women scarcely ate a mouthful. 
Only Clairet, his nose and his hands in his plate 
as usual, buried himself in jam up to his ears. 

Joy wanted to have the customary comfortable 
evening chat, and Monsieur Calisto wanted his 
usual opportunity to smirk and flutter around 
Mademoiselle la Comtessine; but Lazuli said that 
she really must have some rest after her fright in 
the morning — and so she and Adeline said good 
night and went very early to bed. Once in their 
room, they locked and bolted their door as if the 
house were full of robbers and murderers — as, in a 
way, it certainly was. 

When at last they were alone their grief broke 
forth uncontrolled. Clasped close in each other’s 
arms they wept their fill; and lamented because 
they had not Vauclair and Pascalet to help them; 
and at last, tired of sobbing, tired of despairing. 


% Mgl)t of EIrcab. 


219 


they flung themselves on their knees before the 
silver Virgin and poured out to her their yearning 
prayers. 

They had wept until they had no tears left to 
weep, and a great weariness fell upon them. 
Adeline surrendered to it and slept. As the two 
still knelt before the shrine her head drooped 
until it rested against Lazuli’s shoulder, and so 
sleep came to her. Clairet also slept, still dressed, 
as his mother had laid him upon the bed, and 
holding the little white banner embroidered with 
fleurs-de-lys in his hand. 

But Lazuli did not sleep. Her mother-heart, 
calm and courageous in the face of the awful 
danger that was closing in upon them, watched 
wakeful. In spite of her wearying fright, in spite 
of her wearying tears, she was alert and resolute. 
Forgetting hej* danger in her duty, she had gathered 
all her will-force to help her and was resolved to 
make that very night an effort to escape. 

But she waited patiently until the watchman in 
the street had passed the house calling midnight 
before she moved. At that hour she would have 
her best chance to carry out her plan, and as his 
droning drawling cry fell away into the distance 
she arose : satisfied that Joy was sleeping her sound 
honest sleep, and that Calisto — if sleep could come 
to such a wretch — was smothered in nightmare 
slumbers beneath the black and hairy claw-tipped 
wings of the bat of night. 

Adeline was sleeping so soundly that Lazuli 
found it hard to rouse her. Gently, with kisses 
and caresses, she sought to make her open her 
eyes. “Courage, my little Adeline,” she said. 
“It is time for us to start. We must leave this 
accursed house and go to the Planchots. We 
cannot stay longer with this cruel brute who has 


220 


®lie Qlcxxax, 


killed his master, and who to-morrow will turn 
us over to his brute comrades Surto and La Jaca- 
rasse.” 

Adeline shook off her sleep, and presently was 
on foot and eager to be gone. “ I will follow you 
anywhere. Lazuli,” she said. “With you I am 
not afraid.” 

“But before we go,” Lazuli continued, “get 
together and leave fchind you everything that 
murderer has given you.” 

“Yes, yes, indeed!” Adeline answered, and 
she took out her earrings — holding them with the 
tips of her fingers as though they were something 
foul and loathsome — and laid them on the dressing 
table. Beside them she laid some trifles, toilet- 
boxes and scent-bottles, which she took out of 
her bundle. She kept only the clothes that she 
had on when she came there, and those of her 
belongings that Planchof s wife had brought to her 
from time to time. 

Clairet was not so easily aroused. He was 
fairly dead with sleep, and only partly woke up 
when his mother told him that the bad man with 
the long knife was coming. “No,” he said drow- 
sily, “he’s not a bad man, he’s a nice man. He’s 
Monsieur Calisto, and he gives me goodies out of 
his shiny box.” And then he fell to whimpering 
and rubbing his eyes as he said petulantly: “ Clai- 
ret’s sleepy. Clairet wants to go to sleep.” 

This was a difficulty that Lazuli had not taken 
into account. In the long course through the 
great salon and down the stair and across the hall 
to the front door — a dangerously long course even 
though they went shoeless and in absolute silence 
— Clairet’s whimperings could not pass unheard. 
Calisto would be aroused almost certainly: and 
who could tell, coming upon them in the very 


^ of IDreab. 


221 


act of escaping, what this man who already was a 
murderer might do? But to abandon their pro- 
ject meant to run into a still greater danger; for in 
the morning, assuredly, would come Surto and La 
Jacarasse. Whichever way they looked they saw 
death standing grim before them: death if they 
pushed forward in the darkness, death if they 
waited where they were until another day. 

And then Lazuli had an inspiration! “You 
are sleepy, my little one,” she said. “ Well then, 
sleep 1 ” And she laid him again on the bed after 
wrapping him carefully in her shawl. In an in- 
stant Clairet was asleep — dreaming of his wheel- 
barrow and of Joy’s fig-jam. Lazuli waited for a 
few minutes, until his slumber should be sound, 
and then took him very gently into her arms. For 
a moment he stirred uneasily, but then seemed to 
recognize the soft mother-arms around him and 
slept quietly on. 

Adeline opened the door cautiously, and to- 
gether they .passed into the salon. The only light 
in their bedroom was the faint glow from the little 
lamp in front of the Virgin’s shrine. A single step 
across the threshold and they were in total dark- 
ness. Slowly they groped their way among the 
tables and chairs to the farther door, and when 
this was found and opened they went down the 
stair on tiptoe, silently as ghosts. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A PERILOUS ESCAPE. 

Noiselessly they crossed the great hall and the 
vestibule, moving slowly and cautiously in the 
darkness, and so came to the outer door. 

“ Turn the key very gently,” Lazuli whispered. 

Then there was a pause. Presently Adeline 
whispered: “ I can’t find the key.” 

“ Find the lock with your hand. It must be in 
the lock,” Lazuli answered. 

“ But my hand is on the lock now. The key 
is not there.” 

“Impossible! It always is there.” 

“ Feel for yourself. Lazuli.” 

Lazuli came close to the door and braced her 
knee against it so as to support Clairet and give 
her a free hand. She felt for the lock, but all that 
she found there was Adeline’s soft little hand. The 
key was gone! There was another pause, and 
then Adeline clasped Lazuli’s hand tight as she said 
in an agonized whisper: “ God help us! We are 
locked in ! ” 

Lazuli’s heart was beating hard, but she could 
feel that Adeline was shaking with fear and the 
need for sustaining the young girl’s courage 
steadied her. “The key must be here,” she 
whispered. “Very likely it is hanging beside 
the door on a nail. Feel about for it. But gently — 
in the dark you might jostle it loose and let it fall.” 

222 


^ Periloits ©sca^se. 


223 


Adeline ran her hand lightly over the door- 
frame as high as she could reach, and then along 
the walls on each side. Suddenly they heard the 
sharp click of a latch on one of the upper floors — 
and at this sound Adeline gave a shivering sob and 
threw her arms around Lazuli, exclaiming: “He 
has heard us and is coming — we are lost! ” 

“Hush!” whispered Lazuli. “He may not 
find us. Do not be afraid.” And then they stood, 
rigid, their eyes fixed in darkness in the direction 
whence the sound had come. 

The door of Monsieur Calisto’s bedchamber 
was at the head of the second flight of stairs, in 
range from where they were standing. A crack 
of light showed in the darkness, and then this 
door opened and Calisto came out into the passage 
with a candle in his hand. He was dressed in his 
uniform of the National Guard. As the two 
women saw him they were transfixed with terror. 
They scarcely breathed. 

Calisto came down the upper flight of stairs 
slowly. At the open door of the salon he stopped 
short and held his candle aloft while he peered into 
the room curiously. They heard him mutter: 
“That’s old Joy all over! She never shuts a 
door.” But his suspicions were aroused as he 
entered the salon. A moment later they heard 
him utter a sharp exclamation of anger and surprise 
as he saw that the bedroom door was open too. 
Then they heard him pass on with quick steps into 
the bedroom — and knew that in another moment 
he would be in hot search for them. 

But Lazuli used that moment well. “ Come! ” 
she whispered to Adeline — and with Adeline 
clinging to her skirts she dashed up the stairs to 
the first floor, and across the passage to the little 
glass door, and so out into the garden and the 


224 


S^error. 


darkness of the night. It was done with the 
quickness of a flash and without a sound! 

“We must try to get out by the little door,” 
Lazuli said in a panting whisper as they ran down 
the path toward the end of the garden ; and as she 
spoke they already were among the laurel bushes, 
and in another moment were in front of the little 
green door in the ivy-grown wall. Lazuli laid 
Clairet, still wrapped in the shawl, on a stone 
bench; and in her haste plumped him down so 
hard that she woke him. Fortunately he was 
quite comfortable lying there and so held his peace 
— while she, with both hands free, fell to tugging 
at the door. Adeline also caught at the rusty 
handle and they pulled together with all their 
might. But the door remained absolutely firm. 
It did not even shake. Panting, sobbing, they 
tried to loosen the bricks from around the bolt ot 
the lock — tearing their nails and setting their fin- 
gers to bleeding, and nothing more. And then 
the very marrow was frozen in their bones as 
across the silence of the garden they heard Calisto 
calling in furious tones to Joy. 

“Joy! Joy!” he howled. “Get up you old 
jade and come here or I’ll rip your hide off! Quick, 
open your door! ” 

And Joy’s thin old voice answered: “ I’m com- 
ing, Monsieur Calisto. Whafs the matter ?” 

“Where have you hidden them.?” Calisto 
cried. “Tell me instantly, before I mash in your 
skull.” 

“Hidden who, Monsieur Calisto.? I don’t 
know what you mean.” There was a pause, as 
though he were waiting while the old body got 
her clothes on. And then he burst out again. 
“Hurry! Hurry! Don’t play the fool with me. 
Tell me this moment how they got away.” 


^ perilous ®sca;je. 


225 


“I’m coming, I’m coming, Monsieur Calisto. 
Don’t frighten me this way. I don’t know who’s 
got away, or how— I don’t know anything at all.” 

As they heard all this Adeline and Lazuli tore at 
the d5or wildly. “ Oh, if only we had the key! ” 
cried Lazuli, forgetting in her fear to lower "her 
voice. 

And then, from the depths of the shawl, came 
a piping little voice: “The key is right there, 
mama! ” 

Lazuli ran to the child and bent over him. 
“What are you saying, Clairet.^” she asked, and 
loosed the shawl a little. “ Have you ever seen 
the key ?” 

“Yes, Clairet saw it.” 

“Where, my darling.^ Oh, Clairet, tell me 
where you saw it! ” 

“Clairet saw it when he hunted the spar- 
row.” 

“He’s dreaming,” said Lazuli, and for all that 
she spoke in a whisper there was a touch of de- 
spair in her tone. 

“Clairet’s not dreaming. He did see that old 
keyl It's up there.’ 

“Oh Clairet, my little one, tell mama quickly 
where you saw the key.” 

“ Clairet saw it up there when he hunted the 
sparrow. It’s on a nail. It’s under the ivy. The 
sparrow he flew right away.” 

In an instant Lazuli had mounted on the bench 
and her hands were plunged into the ivy beside 
the door — and then fr-r-r-u! frrru! all the spar- 
rows came tumbling out of their beds and flew 
whirring past her and sped away into the night. 
At this sudden sound Adeline fancied — for in the 
darkness she could not see what caused it — that 
some other enemy, Surto perhaps, was climbing 


226 


®l)c (terror. 


over the wall. She screamed. At the same mo- 
ment Lazuli’s hand touched the key. 

“Hush! for heaven’s sake hush, Adeline!” La- 
zuli said in a low frightened voice. “ I have it. 
I have the key. We shall get away. But, oh, do 
not make a sound that will put that murderer on 
our tracks. Listen — and God help poor old Joy! ” 

They could hear Calisto’s voice, hoarse with 
passion, and poor joy’s weak reedy cries for mercy. 
From time to time, through one of the windows, 
a long ray from Calisto's candle flashed down 
into the garden — dancing along the paths and 
lighting up little masses of foliage and making 
bright spots on the ivy-covered walls. And La- 
zuli’s hands were so tremulous that it seemed to 
her as though she never would get the key into 
the door! “You old jade!” came Calisto’s hoarse 
cry, “I’ll twist your neck for you!” and then, at 
last, the key went into the lock, and by exerting 
all her strength Lazuli succeeded in turning it and 
shooting back the rusty bolt. But even then it 
seemed as though the door, long disused and over- 
grown with ivy, would not open. It moved a 
little, and then stuck fast again. The two of them 
got their fingers through the crack and so had a 
firm grip upon the door: with all their might they 
pulled together. The door moved a very little 
more and very slowly; and then, as the tendrils of 
the ivy snapped, came wide open so suddenly that 
they nearly fell. At the same instant they heard 
from the house the sound as of a dull crushing 
blow, and with it a curse from Calisto and a groan 
that they knew must come from Joy. “God help 
her — for we cannot!” cried Lazuli. “God help 
her! ” echoed Adeline. And then Lazuli caught up 
Clairet, and they passed through the doorway into 
the dark street beyond. 


^ perilous (Esca^je. 


^27 


Planchot’s house was their only place of shel- 
ter; but at first they ran on without looking where 
they were going, their only thought being to get 
far away quickly from the accursed dwelling into 
which Calisto had entrapped them — while their 
terror made them fancy that Calisto himself, bloody 
knife in hand, was close upon their heels. As 
they sped on the tocsin sounded — clanging out 
from the tower of a church that they were passing 
— and it seemed to their frightened souls as though 
the swinging bells were shouting “Zou! Zou! 
Zou! See them! See them! There they are! 
There they are! ” 

As the alarm rang out the doors of the houses 
were flung open and the streets, a moment before 
deserted, were filled quickly with a tumultuous 
crowd. Men armed with guns, women carrying 
pikes, crowded around them — some of them 
shouting “To the Faubourg de Gloire! ” others 
“ To the Convention ! ” Into this crowd they were 
caught, and along with it they were hurried for- 
ward. Presently, they scarcely knew how, an eddy 
in the living stream carried them to its edge and 
there stranded them in a corner of the parapet above 
the river. The crowd poured on and left them 
there. Afar off they saw, black against the sky, 
the two towers of Notre Dame. 

The cool mist arising from the water refreshed 
them. They realized that their escape was accom- 
plished. Their panting gave place to easy breath- 
ing. The reaction from their intense excitement 
disposed them to commonplaces. They talked not 
about Joy left for Calisto to murder, but about one 
of their bundles that had been left behind. 

“I don’t care anything about that frayed-out 
old frock,” said Adeline. “But I do care about 
losing the fichu that was rolled up in it. It was 


228 


ferret. 


the one that Pascalet used for a sling when he was 
wounded in his hand.” And Adeline sighed. Not 
a sigh of fright, but a little tender sigh. 

“Ah, our good Pascalet!” exclaimed Lazuli. 
“Would that he were here to help us out of this 
nest of serpents! And my Vauclair — what would 
he say did he know that we were here wandering 
in the streets at night after escaping from that 
monster! Oh, how quickly he would come to us! 

“ But we must help ourselves, Adeline, and the 
first thing for us to do is to get to Planchof s be- 
fore Calisto can head us off there. We are rested 
now, so come on. There we will find good friends 
and a good welcome. And how taken aback 
they'll be to see us come in on them this way in 
the middle of the night! 1 can just see Planchof s 
wife flinging her hands up into the air.” 

“ And Planchof s chin fairly will rap against his 
nose,” Adeline added, and she almost laughed as 
she thought of this surprised meeting of the good 
joiner’s hooked nose and chin. 

“Now don’t set me to laughing,” said Lazuli. 
“It may bring bad luck. We’re not there yet, 
and we’ve a long tramp through the black night 
before we can get there. I’m getting creeps at 
the thought of it — just as I used to have when I 
was a girl and happened to go at night through the 
streets to Avignon. I feel as though the dog of 
Cambaud were after me.” 

At this Avignon name of dread Adeline shud- 
dered, and held fast to Lazuli’s skirt as they started 
forward again. Nor did their cheerfulness — at best 
a flash in the pan — come back to them until at last, 
after losing themselves half a dozen times in the 
labyrinth of streets, they got safely into the Rue 
Saint-Antoine, and then quickly found the Impasse 
Guemenee, and so were at Planchof s door. 


% perilous (£sca^3c. 


229 


The pealing of the tocsin and the hurrying 
crowd pouring through the. Rue Saint-Antoine, 
shouting “ Au Faubourg de Gloire, ” already had 
wakened Planchot and his wife. But they had not 
risen, and still w^re tucked in snugly, with the 
bedclothes up to their noses, when Adeline’s three 
loud knocks startled them. The old joiner had 
one leg out of bed in a moment, and the other 
leg was following it when his wife caught him by 
the tail of his shirt and held hard. “Now just 
you stay where you are! ” she said. 

“ I must go and see who’s knocking.” 

“You’re doited. Who in the world can be 
knocking at this time of night ? ” 

“ How do 1 know ? That’s just what I’m get- 
ting up to find out.” 

“ 1 won’t let you.” 

“ What are you afraid of ” 

“ I’m frightened to death. I’ve been frightened 
ever since that Surto was here with his Jacarasse.” 

“ Don’t you worry. I’ll go down axe in hand.” 

“ I won’t have it, I say. The next thing you’ll 
be killed.” 

Again came the knocking and this time Plan- 
chot fairly jumped out of bed and felt for his 
shoes. But his wife still held fast to the tail of 
his shirt, crying: “You sha’n’t go! I tell you, 
you’ll be killed! ” 

“Come now, wife, let go. Like enough it’s 
some notice from the Jacob^in club, or it may be 
about a job that must be done in a hurry.” 

“ I tell you that honest folk don't wander about 
the streets at this time of night. The daytime is 
long enough for them.” 

“Well, at any rate, let me look out of the 
window and see who’s there.” 

At this reasonable request Planchofs wife let 


230 


terror. 


go of Planchot’s shirt, but with the caution: “Go 
to the window and look out, but come right back. 
If it’s your Jacobins, or some one you don’t know, 
send them about their business. Do you hear ? ” 

“Yes, yes,” Planchot answered. And then, 
sticking his nose out of the window, he called: 
“ Who’s down there 

“ It’s us.” 

“You, Lazuli ?” 

“Yes, with Adeline and Clairet.” 

“ Heavens and earth! ” cried the old joiner, as 
he pulled his head in and turned toward the bed. 
“ Wife ! wife ! get up! It’s Lazuli with the chil- 
dren.” 

“What! what! what!” grumbled the old 
woman froVn down in her bed. “ You’re crazy! ” 

“ I tell you it’s Lazuli.” 

“ At such a time of night — nonsense! ” 

“You’re a pig-headed old woman ! You never 
believe what I say. I’m going down now to open 
the door.” 

Old Planchot snatched up his wife’s printed 
calico cloak, threw it over his shoulders, and 
without any light ran down the stairs to the 
street door. 

It was but a moment’s work to turn the key in 
the lock and draw back the bolt; and then Lazuli, 
with Clairet in her arms and with Adeline closely 
following her, rushed into Planchot’s shop. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE PLANCHOTS HEAR A THRILLING STORY. 

Planchot clapped to the door and fastened it, 
and they were in thick darkness. But in the 
moment that they stood on the threshold, by the 
faint light of the lantern outside, Adeline had 
caught a glimpse of the cloak; and making sure 
that it was Planchot’s wife who had let them in 
she flung herself upon Planchot and as she hugged 
him hard fell to kissing him. And then she gave 
a little cry as the old fellow’s stiff stubble pricked 
her, and was very much confused indeed. 

But the darkness hid her confusion, and Plan- 
chot was too much concerned with their arrival at 
so extraordinary an hour to pay much attention to 
her mistake. 

‘ ‘ Has anything happened ? Has anything gone 
wrong.?” he asked anxiously. 

“ Dear Planchot, all is right now and you must 
not be frightened,” Lazuli answered, as they groped 
their way up the stairs. “ It’s all right, I say, now 
that we’re safe again with you. Something has 
gone very wrong. But it is past, and here in your 
house we feel that once more we are in God’s good 
care.” 

“ Well, maybe. I’m not the one to say it, but 
I do say that you’re better off here than with that 
ape of a Monsieur Calisto.” 

By this time they had reached the kitchen, and 

231 


232 


(5erm*. 


they could hear Planchot’s wife slashing around in 
the bed-alcove, as she hurried to get her clothes on 
and come out to welcome them. “It’s them for 
sure!” she cried as she threw her petticoat over 
her head. “ Lovely Mother of God — it’s them for 
sure! Planchot, you old imbecile, why don’t you 
strike a light ? Strike a light at once, I say! Don’t 
keep them standing there in the dark.” And with 
this — while Planchot got the matches and began to 
shower sparks from the flint and steel on the ama- 
dou — she stuck her feet into her slippers and came 
dashing out half dressed to them in the darkness, 
and they fell on each other’s necks and kissed and 
wept as though they had not met for years and 
years. 

Presently the amadou caught, the sulphur match 
blazed up, and the lamp was lighted — and as the 
light filled the room Planchot’s wife called sharply: 
“ Go and make yourself respectable this very min- 
ute!” For there stood old Planchot in his shirt 
and night-cap. with his wife’s cloak about him 
and the hood of the cloak bunched around his 
neck so that his long chin and his long nose came 
out over it like a pair of pump-handles, and from 
below his shirt his thin old hairy legs stuck out 
like the legs of a stork. 

“ All right, all right, wife,” said the old fellow. 
“But just wait until I’ve given my Clairet boy a 
kiss.” 

“Carefully, Planchot,” said Lazuli. “He’s 
asleep.” 

“No I’m not asleep,” came from the depths 
of the shawl. “I want to get up and get my 
wheel-barrow.” 

‘ ‘ He’s as wide awake as a cat on a mouse-hunt, ” 
said Planchot, and unwrapped the shawl and stuck 
his hooked nose and chin down into it that he 


piancl)Ot0 a (Jl)riUing Storn. 233 


might give Clairet a kiss. And then the joiner 
betook himself with his bare legs to the alcove. 

“Now do sit down both of you,” said Plan- 
chot’s wife, setting chairs for them, “and tell me 
all about whatever it is that has happened, while 
Planchot gets dressed.” 

“ Well, I can only say that it’s lucky you didn’t 
come to see us last evening, my dear,” Lazuli 
began. “If you had, you mightn’t be here now! 
But you’d better begin, Adeline,” and Lazuli un- 
rolled Clairet from the shawl and took him on her 
knees. 

“ Wait a bit. Wait till I come out again,” 
called Planchot from the alcove. “ 1 want to hear 
it all too.” 

‘ ‘ Don’t hurry, ” said Adeline, “I’ll wait for you. 

I won’t say a word till you come out.” 

“ 1 found the key that let us run away,” put in 
Clairet, as he slid down from his mother’s lap and 
climbed upon Planchot’s wife’s knees. 

“ What! You ran away ? But then ” 

“ Monsieur Calisto, who gave me sugar-plums, 
is killing Joy who gave me jam,” Clairet continued. 

“ Saint Joseph and Saint Ann ! — what’s the child 
talking about cried Planchot’s wife, and she 
threw her arms up over her head. 

“We had to escape by the little door in the 
garden,” said Adeline. “You remember the little 
door covered with ivy } ” 

“ Is Joy really dead Poor Joy! Did that Ca- 
listo want to kill the whole of you ? ” exclaimed 
Planchot’s wife, utterly confounded by it all. And 
Planchot called out from the alcove: “ 1 always 
told you that man was a rascal and no more to be 
trusted than a rotten plank.” 

“We don’tknow whether Joy is alive or dead,” 
Adeline went on. “All we know is that just as 


234 


terror. 


we were coming out of the gate we heard a noise 
like an awful blow and then a long groan, almost 
like a death rattle, from poor Joy.” 

“But what was it all for.?” Planchot’s wife 
asked, fairly gasping. 

“La Jacarasse came,” Clairet put in again. He 
had a sense of his own importance in the affair and 
felt that as occasion offered he ought to get in a 
word. 

“ La Jacarasse! She there ! Saint Ann! 
Saint Joachim ! ” cried Planchot’s wife. And then, 
turning toward the alcove, she called: “Did you 
bolt and bar the door, Planchot .? ” 

“Yes, yes, the door’s fast enough. And don’t 
you worry. It will be good for her if she tries to 
get in here. She’ll have her weazand slit with my 
axe! ” 

“But did La Jacarasse really come.?” asked 
Planchot’s wife. 

“ Yes she did,” Lazuli and Adeline answered 
together. And then Lazuli went on : “ I’d better 
tell about the very beginning of it, Adeline — about 
my going after the carter and how she followed me 
home.” And then she told how Calisto had sent 
her on a wild goose chase to the Golden Bell after 
the carter, and how La Jacarasse and Surto were in 
wait for her at the river, and would have caught 
her had not the ferryman put her on her guard, and 
how the sans-culottes had stopped her, and how La 
Jacarasse had chased her almost all the way home. 
And before her story was half finished Planchot’s 
wife was swinging her arms above her head and 
crying upon all the Holy Family at once, while 
Planchot, who was dressed by this time, had got 
his axe and was flourishing it in the air. 

When Lazuli had finished, Adeline took up the 
narrative and told how she had been hidden in the 


Q^l)c J)lancl)0ts ^ear a Storg. 235 


bedroom while Calisto and La Jacarasse were to- 
gether in the salon, and how she had heard all the 
dreadful things which they had said to each other, 
and the poor child fairly broke down and wept on 
Lazuli’s breast when she came to the part about 
her own father having been killed. Lazuli had to 
tell the rest — about La Jacarasse’s declared intention 
to come back with Surto and capture them, and 
her threat that if Calisto hid them she would have 
him arrested in their stead. And while all this was 
being told Planchot’s wife went on like a perfect 
windmill, and Planchot’s stiff hair stood up brist- 
ling and his eyes fairly blazed. 

“And so you see,” said Lazuli in conclusion, 
“there was nothing for it but for us to run away ! ” 

“Well, 1 said from the very beginning that 
Calisto was a murderous scoundrel,” cried Planchot. 
“Now you see, wife, 1 was right. And you with 
your good kind Monsieur Calisto, indeed! ” 

“I couldn’t have believed such things of such a 
man,” said the joiner’s wife, greatly confused. 

“The black devil!” continued Planchot. “Of 
course he sent Lazuli to the Golden Bell on a fool’s 
errand. It all was made up between him and 
Surto and La Jacarasse.” 

“Of course it was,” said Lazuli, “and that’s 
why we ran away.” 

“ You did right. Now we must look after you 
and send you to bed. But before you go you 
must have something to eat and drink.” 

“ Yes, some good fig-jam ! ” said Clairet. 

“Hold your tongue, you little glutton,” said 
his mother, “this isn’t the time of day for fig-jam.” 
And then, turning to Planchot, she went on 
gravely; “Listen, do you think it safe either for 
you or for ourselves that we should sleep in your 
house ? I am certain that at daybreak Calisto and 


236 


SlI)c terror. 


Surto and La Jacarasse, and likely enough a lot more 
like them, will be at your door with warrants to 
arrest us. Against their warrants, you know, you 
could do nothing. You would be forced to give 
us up.” 

‘‘It looks as if Lazuli was right,” said Planchot’s 
wife. 

“ Hold your tongue, you doused chicken, you ! ” 
said Planchot. “What’s this for ” and he flour- 
ished his axe. 

“You’re always talking about that axe,” his 
wife answered. “I’d like to know what good it 
would do you against three or four or maybe a dozen 
of ’em — and them with a warrant, too! Lazuli is 
right in what she says — but I think 1 see a way 
out, all the same.” 

“For my part,” said Lazuli, “1 think the best 
thing we can do is to start right off on foot for 
Avignon. We’ll take a month to it, or we’ll take 
two months. We won’t hurry. We’ll go slowly, 
and we’ll rest when we’re tired. There’ll be good 
people by the way who will give us bread. We 
can sleep under hedges and haystacks. We’ll do 
very well.” . 4 ^ 

“That’s all nonsense!” exclaimed Planchot. 
“It’s quite, quite impossible.” 

“Yes, it’s utter nonsense!” said Planchot’s 
wife. “And, besides, I’ve got a plan that will 
make everything all right until the coach leaves for 
Avignon.” 

“But there isn’t any Avignon coach,” said 
Lazuli. 

“Never mind if there isn’t,” Planchot’s wife 
went on. “There are carters going to Avignon 
in plenty, and you shall go in a cart. We ll attend 
to all that. But now listen, and you’ll agree that 
I’ve hit on the right thing for you to do. This is 


J)lancl)ot0 igear a (JI)riUing Stors- 237 


what has come into my head: We have a neigh- 
bour who's as fine a fellow as ever lived. His 
house is right opposite. You all know him for he 
is the one who brought us Pascalef s three crowns. 
His name is William the Patriot, he’s an old bache- 
lor more than seventy years old. He’s as good as 
bread — kind-hearted, always doing something for 
somebody — and it will be a pleasure as well as a 
duty for him to have you in his house. He’s never 
in it; he’s always away attending to the affairs of 
the nation. He knows who you are. He knows 
that your Vauclair’s a Marseilles Federal and that 
your Pascalef s fighting for the Republic up there 
at the northern frontier. That’s enough for him. 
What do you think, Planchot, isn’t it the very 
thing for them ? ” 

“ Yes, that’s a good notion, wife. Why didn’t 
I think of it myself.^ We're so near that we can 
put everything in his house they need, and we can 
go at any minute to see them. Yes, it’s a very 
good notion indeed.” 

“ But oh, we want to get back to Avignon! ” 
sighed Lazuli. And as she kissed Clairet she said 
to him: “Don’t you want to see your father, 
Clairet? It’s more than a month since he went 
away. Poor man, what must he think of us ? 
Indeed, we’d better walk.” 

“ You are right. Lazuli,” said Adeline. “ I en- 
tirely agree with you, and I’m ready now to start 
on foot. I’ll help carry Clairet when he’s tired.” 

“You’re losing your senses, both of you!” 
cried Planchot as he rose to his feet. “ I’ll go at 
once to see our good neighbour. We’ll take a bed 
over into his house right away. Before daylight 
everything will be in order, and no one will have 
seen anything. Surto and La Jacarasse and Calisto 
may come when they like — I’ll welcome them, I 
16 


Qll)c ^cxxox. 


238 


will ! ” And being delivered of this speech he went 
down into the street and knocked at his neigh- 
bour’s door. 

Planchot’s wife brought out a bottle of cordial 
wine and a plate of biscuit. “Come all of you,” 
she said. “A nip of wine will rest your blood,” 
and she filled the glasses all around. No one 
waited to be pressed. Even Clairet, who could 
hardly keep his eyes open, munched his biscuit 
and drank down his golden wine. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


WILLIAM THE PATRIOT. 

Planchot and his neighbour soon settled mat- 
ters. Planchot’s first knock aroused him, and he 
was quick to understand and to render the service 
that was required of him. 

William the Patriot — as this good man was 
called by all who knew him — belonged to that 
class of people who never have anything of their 
own because they always are giving away! They 
no sooner know of trouble than they needs must 
rush off to relieve it. They nurse the sick, they 
clothe the naked, to feed the hungry they will take 
the very bread from their own mouths. Over and 
over again this good William had brought to his 
home poor famished wretches, and had shared 
with them his fire and his food until they were 
well and strong again and able once more to gain 
their living with their own twenty nails. 

A patriot he had been born, and at the first 
glimmer of the dawn of the Revolution a thrill ran 
through his noble soul. Seventv years old though 
he was, he went to the black Bastille and in the 
name of Liberty tore out a stone. 

On the twentieth of June he marched with the 
people to the King’s Castle; and he it was who in 
the name of Equality put his red cap on the head, 
already loose on its shoulders, of Louis Capet. 
When famine came and clutched at men with 

239 


240 




tooth and claw, he had collected his mother’s jew- 
elry, his father’s watch and buckles, all his family 
relics, and had taken them to the Hotel de Ville 
and had given them for the hunger-bitten poor. 

Sickened and pained by the massacres which 
stained the soil of France with blood, he gave his 
patriotic energy to that labour which he could per- 
form with a clear conscience — to resisting the for- 
eign foes, allies of the Prisoner in the Temple, who 
were pressing upon the Frontier. Too old himself 
to bear arms, he stood before the altar of his coun- 
try and zealously aided in recruiting volunteers for 
the national defence — preaching the pure cause of 
Liberty and arousing in younger men a patriotic 
fervour with his ringing words. Well was he 
called William the Patriot, and well did Planchot 
know what he was doing when he applied for aid 
to this good man. 

Hardly had he heard what was wanted of him 
than he answered eagerly: “ Planchot, my house is 
yours. Here is the key. Tell those poor souls 
that they can come at once. If 1 am in their way, 

1 will go elsewhere! ” 

“No, no, my good neighbour,” said Planchot, 
“1 don’t ask so much as that. All that we need 
is a room to which 1 will bring a bed and a table and 
some chairs. That will be enough. But what we 
do ask of you is secrecy. Those poor women are 
pursued by three scoundrels who are not worth 
the rope it would take to hang them. They are 
the three who nearly killed my wife and me in our 
own house a month ago. Do you remember ? ” 

“Yes, 1 remember,” William the Patriot an- 
swered, “and that is quite enough for me. You 
and 1 are old cronies, Planchot, and you can count 
on me as on yourself. 1 know, too, that in help- 
ing you 1 am helping two good patriots — Sergeant 


tDilliam tl)e patriot. 


241 


Vauclair of the Marseilles Battalion, and that brave 
volunteer of the Republic, the soldier Pascalet.” 

And so, before daybreak, all was made ready 
in the patriot’s house and Lazuli and Adeline and 
Clairet safely were sheltered there. They had a 
\ room with an alcove, and in the alcove was a win- 
dow that faced the kitchen window of the Plan- 
chots’ house. With only the narrow alley be- 
tween them it was almost as though they all were 
under the same roof. And Adeline and Lazuli, 
cramped though they were in this one little room 
in which they were prisoners of their own free will 
— for they had agreed not to venture forth from it 
until they made their start for Avignon — felt that 
they had found Paradise! For this little room was 
the gift of a good man — while the great palace that 
they had left was the home of a murderer, and was 
haunted by the ghost of the old man whom he had 
slain. 

Clairet went to sleep in these new quarters the 
moment that his head touched the pillow; but 
Adeline and Lazuli could not sleep, partly because 
of their excitement over their own deliverance, 
and partly because of their sorrowful dread when 
they thought of poor old Joy. In their ears echoed 
still the sound of that awful blow and of her gur- 
gling groan ! 

And so they still were talking, in hushed 
voices, when the dawn began to whiten the win- 
dow panes; and presently they heard William the 
Patriot get up very quietly and then slip down stairs, 
shoes in hand, so as not to disturb them — and knew 
that he was gone to his noble duty before the altar 
of the Country on the Place du Carrousel. 

Planchot and his wife were also up very early 
— and at once began, as was not unusual with 
them, a lively argument. 


242 


(terror. 


“ I tell you,” said Planchot, “ we’ll wake them 
up if we go so early.” 

“And 1 tell you,” his wife answered, “that I 
understand them as if I’d made them myself, and I 
know they haven’t closed their eyes. And, 
what's more, 1 can’t get on without seeing them 
right off.” 

“'Well, let’s go then — for 1 may as well own 
up I’m as anxious to see them as you are,” said 
Planchot. 

“ But we’re not going with empty hands,” 
said Planchot’s wife. And with that the two 
old people went from pantry to bread box and 
from cupboard to shelf and then up into the garret 
and down into the cellar, until the big kitchen 
table was loaded with good things. There were 
almonds and apples and filberts, jars of preserved 
quinces, cheeses flavoured with pebre d’ase, green 
olives and black olives and cracked olives of that 
season’s growth, spice-bread, crackle-cakes, fou- 
gassettes, sausages, chitterlings, bunches of white 
grapes and of red grapes, rich red wine and cor- 
dial wine — everything, in a word, to be found in 
the house of good Proven^aux remembered every 
year in their Paris exile by warm-hearted relatives 
in Provence — that blessed country in which warm 
hearts are plenty and good things abound! and 
when all this was spread out on the table each 
separate good thing seemed to say “ Eat me! ” in 
trumpet tones! 

Planchot’s wife reached down from the wall 
her big covered basket, and when she had stuffed 
it full she spread a white napkin neatly over all. 
And then, after peeping out through the shutters 
to make sure that no one was in the alley, she 
picked up her basket and in spite of her sixty years 
ran down the stairs with it as lightly as a bird. She 


toilliam t[)c jpatrict. 


243 


crossed the alley and entered the good patriot’s 
house, and mounting the stairs knocked at the 
chamber door — and without giving Lazuli time to 
ask who it was, called out: “ Open! It is I! ” 

Before the children’s delighted eyes the good 
woman spread out her treasures. The little table 
was completely covered. Then she filled the table 
drawers, and yet more was to come! Clairet 
jumped up and down like a kid and clapped his 
hands as he saw all these good things to eat. 

“You dear, dear woman,” said Lazuli, “what 
are you thinking about ? Where can we put all 
this ? ” But Planchof s wife, without saying a 
word, kept on hauling things out of her basket! 

“Oh the pretty reinette apples!” “Oh the 
pretty Paradise apples! ” cried Adeline and Clairet 
in the same breath. 

When table and drawers were full, the shelf in 
the cupboard came into play. The sausages and 
grapes were hung on the hooks in the ceiling, and 
the room looked like a garret in an overflowing 
farmhouse. And when the basket was emptied 
at last, Planchof s wife said: “Now I’ll go and 
get the rest! ” 

“But good heavens!” cried Lazuli, “you’re 
not going to bring your whole house here, are 
you ? ” And she held her fast by the petticoat. 

“Now, let go,” said Planchof s wife. “You 
don’t suppose I’m going to leave you here to 
starve — with no bread, no wine, no lights, no fire ? 
This isn’t near enough. Let go of me. There’s 
lots more to come ! ” 

Just then Planchot came climbing up the stairs 
— loaded down like a bee! A bottle was under 
each arm. His joiner’s apron, the end of which he 
held in his mouth, was full of victuals. In one 
hand he carried a jar of oil, and in the other a pot 


244 


QLcxxov. 


of sulphur for the matches. His wife hurried to 
him and helped him to unload, and when this new 
cargo was outspread in the room there was hardly 
left space in which to turn around. The table and 
its drawers, the cupboard, the shelves, even the 
hooks in the ceiling, were loaded with food ! 

This glad giving and receiving made them all 
forget the fright and the trouble of the night, and 
they were very happy together in the humble little 
room. 

While these good people were enjoying their 
honest happiness, a raging monster — a wild beast 
rather than a human being — was tearing through 
the palace in the Rue de Bretagne. Calisto 
searched the house from top to bottom. Cursing, 
furious, he turned everything upside down as he 
hunted in all the corners, under the beds, in the 
closets, everywhere, to find Adeline and Lazuli. 
But his vain search only exhausted him, and 
angered him until he fairly foamed at the mouth 
with rage. He could not fathom the mystery of 
their escape — for the door still was locked and in 
his own pocket was the key. Only by Joy’s help, 
he decided, could they have got away. She must 
have let them out through some cellar or garret 
window unknown to him. And at this thought 
he rushed upstairs and threw open the door of 
old Joy’s room. 

Half dead from the blow he had given her, her 
forehead cut open by striking against the edge of 
the door as she fell, the poor old woman still had 
managed to drag herself to her bed. She was 
lying there, groaning and trembling, when Calisto 
rushed into her room. With a curse he seized her 
by the foot and dragged her to the floor, howling 
at her: “You jade! You jade! Tell me how 


toilliam tl)e patriot. 


245 


you let them out! If you don’t, I’ll crush you 
under my feet like a scorpion! ” 

“Mercy! Mercy! Monsieur Calisto !” moaned 
poor Joy, “I don’t know where or how they 
went away! ” 

“ Yes, you do know — and I’ll tear your tongue 
out if you don’t answer ! ” As he spoke he grasped 
her slender wrinkled neck and squeezed with both 
hands until he had almost strangled her. But 
when he relaxed his grasp, the poor old woman 
gasped out: “I swear to you, Monsieur Calisto, 
on my mother’s grave, that I do not know where 
they have gone.” 

“You won’t answer, then. Do you want me 
to tear your eyes out ? Do you want me to crush 
you to death, you obstinate mule ? If you don’t 
know how they got out, how can any one know ? 
You shameless old liar! speak up, I say! Do you 
see my fists ? Do you see my feet ? I’ll smash 
the life out of you! ” 

Not until her time to die came would joy be 
closer to death than she was then. Calisto drew 
back from her and his muscles grew stiff and tense. 
In another instant he would have dashed himself 
upon her — but in that instant came three thunder- 
ing knocks at the street door. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A DRUNKEN SEARCH PARTY. 

The knocking was so imperative that even Ca- 
listo’s savage rage was checked and he was com- 
pelled to answer it. Leaving Joy lying on the 
floor, moaning pitifully, he ran down the stairs 
and across the hall to the vestibule. Through the 
door he called : “ Who’s there ? ” 

“ Friends,” came the answer. 

“ Is it you, Surto 

“Yes. Open the door.” 

Calisto did not wait for more. He turned the 
big key in the lock and raised the latch, and the 
heavy door swung creaking back on its hinges. 
Instantly, squeezing past each other as though 
each was afraid of being the last, Surto and La 
Jacarasse rushed in with an escort of seven sans- 
culottes armed with swords and pikes. They all 
smelt abominably of wine and lurched and stag- 
gered against each other as they came scrambling 
along. 

“To-day we’ve come to fetch away the two 
sluts,” said La Jacarasse in her harsh voice from 
her wine-stained mouth. 

“ Whom have you come after ?” asked Calisto. 

“Don’t play the fool,” La Jacarasse answered. 
“ We’ve come for Adeline and the Avignon woman. 
And just you remember what I told you. If you 
don’t give up those women, we’ll take you off in 
246 


^ ^Drunken Searcli JJattfl. 


247 


their place!” And she added, pointing to the 
sans-culottes: “We come in the name of the 
Nation.” 

Surto, who was much drunker than La Jaca- 
rasse, put himself forward and mumbled out : 
“ No, no, not you, Calisto. We’re all good friends 
. . . we're . . . it’s the Com-tes-sine ... we 
want.” 

“Yes, yes, of course we are good friends,” 
said Calisto. “You want the Comtessine If 
only I knew where she was. I’d be the very first 
person to give her to you! ” 

Surto, swaying backwards and forwards on his 
drunken legs, continued : “We want . . . to . . . 
twist ... to twist . . . her neck for her, the 
Com . . . tes . . . sine!” 

“Oh come now,” said Calisto, quite at his 
ease, as he felt himself the master of the drunken 
party. ‘ ‘ Good friends don’t meet this way. Come 
along and dry up some jars of Tavel wine. As we 
clink our glasses we’ll talk it all over.” 

“You’re . . . r- right . . . we’re all friends,” 
said Surto. “ W-where’s that wine ? ” 

And then the lot of them followed Surto into 
the kitchen, and Calisto quickly set glasses and 
some jolly dusty bottles on the table. In another 
moment they were all gulping down the fiery 
Tavel wine — a wine that soon taps hard on the 
hardest skull, and makes those who drink it see 
hens with three beaks, and double suns and moons, 
and houses that go dancing around and around! 

Lajacarasse alone did not drink. “Why, La 
Jacarasse, you’re not yourself ! ” said Calisto. “ Do 
you want to keep your wine to make vinegar? 
Down with it, like these good fellows! It’s the 
Comte de la Vernede who pays! ” 

“I don’t want to drink,” the old drab an- 


248 


®lie fervor. 


swered. “At least, not now. I didn’t come for 
that. Wait till I've got what I want. I’ll drink 
my belly full then ! ” 

“I’ll do . . . ’nough drinkin’ for us b-both!” 
said Surto, as he raised his glass. “Calishto’s 
our very good friend! ” 

This seemed to be the sentiment of the others. 
All the gang swallowed down the fiery wine as 
fast as Calisto poured it out for them. Before long 
they were very drunk indeed. They could not 
even sit straight in their chairs. 

“Well, now that your lamps are well filled 
with oil,” said Calisto pleasantly, “suppose you 
go and look for the Comtessine. Where do you 
think she’s hiding ? ” 

“Where’s she hidin’.^” said La Jacarasse. 
“Why, she’s hidin’ here in your house — and you 
know it better than anybody.” 

“ Ha, ha,” laughed Calisto. “ Go and look for 
her, then. Go and look from garret to cellar, you 
great old mule — and when you’ve stuck your nose 
in everywhere, perhaps you’ll believe what I say.” 

“I’m not huntin’ countesses just now,” said 
Surto, falling back in his chair. “I’m stayin’ 
right here — along o’ the wine! ” 

“And so am I!” “And so am I! ’’cried the 
sans-culottes, as they reeled in their chairs. 

‘Wery well. I’ll go alone,” said La Jacarasse, 
“and I’ll turn your house upside down till I find 
the little jade,” and she started up from the table 
in a towering rage. 

“All right, you old dragon,” cried Calisto, 
“go along with you. Here are the keys. Hunt 
wherever you like and turn the house out of the 
windows. When you’re tired of hunting come 
back here and have a drink. We’ll wait for you.” 

Calisto sat down with the party and filled their 


^ ?I 3 runken Searcl) Partn. 


249 


glasses for them, while La Jacarasse seized the 
bunch of keys and set off to search every nook 
and corner of the house. She went into the salon 
and turned around all the furniture. She looked 
behind the hangings and the mirrors to see if there 
were any secret doors. Then she went into the 
bedroom in which Lazuli and Adeline and Clairet 
had spent a part of the previous night — where 
the lamp still was burning in front of the silver 
Virgin. 

Here La Jacarasse stopped short, like a pointer 
before game. She sniffed suspiciously, looked all 
around without touching anything, and said to 
herself: “ This is the lair! ” She took one or two 
steps forward, very gently, as though she were 
afraid of wakening her prey. The bed, smooth 
and orderly, evidently had not been slept in. 
Then she caught sight of the earrings. Whose 
earrings could they be ? she thought. Certainly 
not old Joy’s. That they were not Adeline’s ear- 
rings she had the best possible reasons for know- 
ing. All of Adeline’s jewelry was in La Jacarasse’s 
own strong-box at home. ‘ ‘ They must be Lazuli’s 
— and now I have proof ! ” she said to herself as 
she snatched them up and thrust them into her 
bag. But her proof did not help her much. The 
room was empty. Of that she satisfied herself by 
searching the clothes-presses and by peering under 
the bed — going down heavily on her fat knees. 
So were the other rooms on that floor and on the 
floor above. It was not until she came under the 
mansard that she made any fresh discovery. There, 
down at the end of a little passage, she was startled 
by hearing a faint moan. In a moment she had 
opened the door of a little room softly, and as she 
entered on tiptoe she saw poor Joy, cut and bleed- 
ing, lying on the floor. 


250 


terror. 


“Joy> Joy/’ said La Jacarasse, softening her 
voice as she spoke, “what’s the matter?” 

“Is that you, Lazuli?” Joy asked without 
opening her eyes. 

“Yes, it’s Lazuli,” La Jacarasse answered, try- 
ing to imitate the tones of Lazuli’s voice. “ And 
where is Adeline ? I must get her to help me 
look after you.” 

“Adeline, Adeline! Ah she is so good and 
kind! ” 

“ But where is she, Joy? I’ll go and tell her 
you’re hurt,” said La Jacarasse, still trying to imi- 
tate Lazuli’s voice. 

“You know as well as I do where she is.” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her this morn- 
ing.” 

“Oh Lazuli, you’re making fun of me. You 
know she’s in the garden playing with Clairet.” 
By an effort Joy opened her eyes — just in time to 
see La Jacarasse turn away and leave the room to 
go lumbering down the stairs. 

“Holy Virgin save me!” groaned poor Joy, 
and her head fell back on the tiles and she went 
off into a swoon. 

La Jacarasse lurched down the stairs heavily 
and out into the garden. She quartered the ground 
like a dog hunting, in and out among the clumps 
of laurel and the box bushes. At the end of five 
minutes she came to the ivy-covered wall and the 
open door. “Aha!” she cried, “now I under- 
stand why Calisto gave me his keys and told me 
to hunt through his house. He had let the birds 
out of the cage ! ” 

She stamped on the ground furiously, and 
turned to go back to the kitchen. Then a look of 
cunning came over her coarse face and she paused. 
“Stop a bit,” she said to herself. “This is a 


% IDrunken Searcl) Partg. 


251 


game that two can play at ! I’m sure now that they 
live here. Lazuli’s earrings prove it. What Joy 
said proves it. This open door proves it. Well, 
you carrion bird of a Calisto, no doubt you think 
you’re a sharp one, but I’ll have you to know that 
I’m sharper — and just you see if I don’t put salt on 
your tail! I know now the secret of how your 
hussies come and go, and I’ll keep your secret — 
for myself! I’ll go and drink your Tavel wine, and 
plenty of it. I’ll touch glasses with you. I’ll call 
you friend Calisto to your heart’s content. Oh 
yes. I’ll do all that, and I’ll do something more — 
I’ll mount guard night and day at this door, and I’ll 
end by carrying off your little Countess. You’ll 
like that, won’t you } And you’ll like it still more 
when I drown her in my well!” And having 
finished this . pleasant monologue. La Jacarasse 
went back to the kitchen in a very cheerful frame 
of mind. 

Surto and the sans-culottes had wasted no time 
during her absence. The table was covered with 
“dead soldiers,” but as fast as a bottle was 
emptied the amiable Calisto had a full one ready 
to their hands. As she re-entered the kitchen they 
were standing in a tipsy ring around the table — 
keeping on their feet only because they held each 
other up with hands clasped all around — and were 
roaring at the tops of their voices: 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son, vive le son ! 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son du canon ! 

With a right good will the old trollop seated her- 
self and went on at the Tavel — emptying three 
brimming goblets down her throat in quick suc- 
cession, and then settling herself comfortably to a 


252 


terror. 


slower swilling of the strong red wine. Toward 
Calisto she manifested an effusive amiability, pro- 
testing that she had done him a wrong in suspect- 
ing him of harbouring the Countess, begging 
him to forgive her injustice, and winding up by 
embracing him and declaring that he was her best 
friend. And all the while she was saying to her- 
self : “You shall pay for this, my lad ! One of these 
fine mornings I’ll catch your starling, and then I’ll 
twist her neck! ” 

Being satisfied that the danger was tided over, 
Calisto had no desire to prolong a drinking bout 
in which he had taken no part. “Now friends,” 
he said, “ we have our plans to settle. We’ve got 
to find that Avignon woman and we’ve got to find 
the little Comtessine. Their two heads must 
promenade around the Place de Gloire on top of 
your pikes. But to do this,” he went on, “we 
must join forces and set a watch at the right 
places. And I tell you where those right places 
are. For you see, I know certain details ” 

“And so do I know certain details,” blurted 
out La Jacarasse, who was getting a little top- 
heavy with the Tavel wine. 

“Well, then you'll agree with me,” said 
Calisto, “ that we must watch for the Comtessine 
and Lazuli at the Planchots and at the starting 
place of the Avignon coach, and about the inns 
where the carters stay who travel the road between 
Lyons and Marseilles. There’s no time to be lost. 
If you all are agreed, we’ll divide our watch. I 
and two of these good sans-culottes will take 
charge, day and night, of the Impasse Guemenee. 
You, Surtd, with the other sans-culottes and with 
La Jacarasse, will look after all the coaches and all 
the carters who start on the Lyons road. You 
will watch day and night, as I shall watch 


^ IDrunken Searcl) J 3 arts. 


253 


Planchot’s house — and you’ll see that we’ll catch 
them before many days have passed.” 

“You’re right, friend Calisto,” hiccoughed 
Surto. 

“Yes, you’re right,” said La Jacarasse. “ But 
Surto and 'the others must watch the coaches and 
carts, for I’m going to mount guard in a place of 
my own.” 

“ If you know of any other place to watch,” 
said Calisto, a little angrily, “you’d better say 
where it is.” 

“ 1 know what 1 know,” La Jacarasse answered. 
“ What’s it to you any way ? If we catch ’em we 
catch ’em — where we catch ’em makes no differ- 
ence at all.” 

“You speak as if you were sure of your 
catch.” 

“ Sure! I should think I was! I’ll rip both of 
’em up before nightfall — and right before your eyes 
too! ” 

“You seem to think you know just where 
they are.” 

“ Well, I do know.” 

Calisto turned pale. “Can they possibly still 
be here ?” he said to himself. “ Can this old slut 
have found them in some hiding place?” 

“ Well, if you know where they are,” he said 
sharply, “speak up. Where are they ?” 

But La jacarasse saw that she had gone too far, 
and with a silly laugh answered: “Don’t you see 
I’m joking ? I’ll do as you say, for your plan’s a 
good one. Come, up with you all, and we’ll go 
to our posts. Remember, there are ten golden 
crowns to be paid down to the first who gets his 
claws on them.” 

Calisto felt at his ease again. He was sure that 
La jacarasse had made no awkward discoveries. 
17 


254 


®l)e terror. 


And so he uncorked another bottle of the heady 
Tavel wine and said lightly: “All right, then. 
And now let’s have one more drink all round and 
be off ! ” 

They clinked their glasses and down went the 
wine. And then the gang left the house and stag- 
gered away, filling up the whole width of the street 
with their reelings, toward the Place du Faubourg 
de Gloire. 

From that day on Planchot and William the 
Patriot noticed that two ugly-looking sans-culottes 
mounted guard at the entrance of the Impasse 
Guemenee, and day and night peered into the faces 
of all who came in or went out of the alley. More 
than that, when Planchot or William went abroad, 
they were certain to meet either Surto or La Jaca- 
rasse or Calisto on the Place du Faubourg de 
Gloire; and just as certain was Planchot of meet- 
ing one of the three when he walked out on the 
Lyons road. 

Planchot often went out on that road, hoping 
always that he might meet the Avignon coach 
coming in — but, alas, it never came! The mails 
arrived on horseback. Coaches and carts did not 
venture on the roads. Travellers there were none. 
Terror reigned — and her cold shadow was spread 
over the whole of our beautiful France. 

Calisto and Surto and La Jacarasse had their 
several opinions in the premise and severally stuck 
to them. Calisto said to himself: “ I’ll catch them 
either at the Avignon coach or under the hood of 
a carrier’s cart.” Every day, and many times a day, 
he would prowl around the inns frequented by 
carriers and question them ; and his arrangements 
were so made that he would have early notice of 
it should a coach for Avignon depart. Not a vehi- 


^ Jlilrtinken Searcl) partn. 


255 


cle went off on the Lyons road but that by hook or 
by crook he managed to find out where it was go- 
ing and who were going in it. 

As to Surto, he was sure that Adeline and La- 
zuli were hidden in Planchof s house and that there 
he would get his claws on them ; and either he or 
one of his sans-culottes kept a steadfast guard at the 
Impasse Guemenee. 

But La Jacarasse, basing her convictions upon 
her knowledge of facts, and upon her knowledge 
of certain controlling traits of human nature, was 
the most confident of the three. She was satisfied 
that Adeline and Lazuli had been hidden in Calis- 
to’s house; that they had been removed from it to 
save them from arrest; that sooner or later they 
would return to it. These were her facts. She 
also was satisfied that she knew why Calisto had 
hidden them there. Adeline was young and beau- 
tiful and therefore was a desirable possession. But 
she also was the heiress to her father’s great for- 
tune, and on that score — according to the notions 
of La Jacarasse — was a still more desirable posses- 
sion. “ He means to marry her, that spruced-up 
flea does, and so have her and her money too! ” 
La jacarasse soliloquized with an admirable perspi- 
cuity; and as she held that the fortune which the 
“spruced-up flea” intended in this way to acquire 
belonged rightfully to Surto and herself, her dispo- 
sition toward Calisto was made of nothing sweeter 
than wormwood and gall. 

“Yes, he thinks he’s going to marry her, and 
he thinks he’s going to do us out of our money,” 
said the kindly creature; “but that’s where he’s 
counting his sheep afore he has lambs! He’s got 
me to reckon with, that young man has — and he’s 
likely to find me a holy terror afore he’s shut of 
me. Out of that door in the garden they went, 


256 


®l)e bettor. 


and in again at that door they’re bound to come. 
Them as waits longest sees most — and I ain’t a bad 
one at bangin’ on.” And so, by day and by night, 
La Jacarasse confidently kept up her watch on the 
little door in the ivy-covered wall of the garden of 
the house in the Rue de Bretagne. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


IN PARIS AND IN AVIGNON. 

But all three of these hungry wolves were run- 
ning on false scent and were sharpening their teeth 
in vain. Adeline and Lazuli and Clairet were hav- 
ing a dull time of it in their prison ; but their prison 
also was their refuge, and there was rest and con- 
tentment for them in the certain knowledge that 
they were safely hidden in William the Patriot’s 
house. 

Truly, the long days dragged wearily for them, 
pent up in that little room into which no sunshine 
ever came. There was no going to the Planchots’ 
for the women to have a comfortable talking-bout, 
and for Clairet to play in the shavings and help 
melt the glue. They did not even venture to stick 
their noses out of the window ! The best that they 
could do was to stand well back in the room and 
look across into the Planchots’ kitchen — and see 
Planchot’s wife, also well back in the room, blow 
kisses to them or wave a friendly broom. And so 
Clairet, sorrowing for his “farm ” in the big gar- 
den and for his wheel-barrow, amused himself with 
the toys that were provided for him, and Adeline 
and Lazuli talked and talked! Sometimes their 
talk was of Vauclair, down in Avignon and full of 
anxiety concerning them ; sometimes of Pascalet, 
fighting bravely on the northern frontier; some- 
times of Calisto and how he had befooled them 

257 


258 


(terror. 


with his fine promises and foppish ways; some- 
times of poor old Joy. When they talked of Calisto 
Adeline often would feel his clammy touch so 
keenly that she would get up hurriedly and wash 
her hands. And as none of these subjects was 
pleasant to dwell upon, and as even speculation as 
to their escape to Avignon had a touch of bitter 
doubt in it, their days were wearisomely long. 

But things were better when night came. 
Then, late, when William the Patriot had come 
home, when traffic had ceased on the streets and 
the Impasse Guemenee was deserted, there was 
cheerfulness for a while in the little room. Then 
the Planchots would close their door with an os- 
tentatious bang, and a little later would put out 
their kitchen light; and after that no reasonable 
spy would dream that the Planchots were any- 
where but in their bed. But they were not by any 
means in their bed, those good Planchots! Softly, 
in the dark, they would steal down stairs, softly 
would unbar their door again — and then, like two 
elderly ghosts, they would flit across the alley to 
the door that William the Patriot was holding 
open for them, A moment later they all would 
be assembled in the little room — the honest Patriot 
smoking his pipe comfortably and sometimes 
drowsing a little over it, and Clairet sound asleep 
in his mother’s lap — and then would be let loose 
the torrent of talk that on each side of the Impasse 
Guemenee had been pent up all day! 

It was always with the same question that the 
talk began: “ Has the Avignon coach come in 
And to this, sorrowfully, Planchot always gave 
the same answer: “ No, it has not come in.” But 
always the joiner went on cheerfully to express 
the hope that it soon would be coming; and then 
to tell them about the search he was making to 


Sn |)aris anb in ^uigncn. 


259 


find a carter who would carry them home. Carters 
were coming and going, he said, but not many of 
them and not from nor to the farthest parts of 
France. And even those with whom he talked, 
from Burgundy or the Vivarais, complained of the 
dangers of the road. “The country is upside 
down in these times,” said Planchot, wagging his 
long chin. “ Prudent people bide at home.” 

“It is a crying shame,” said William the Pa- 
triot, taking his pipe out of his mouth and speak- 
ing very gravely, “ that the country should be in 
such a state. We have carried through our Revo- 
lution, we have upset the throne and put the King 
in prison, and the Republic is proclaimed. But 
in spite of it all we still have a tyrant over us. 
There are no lettres-de-cachet signed by Louis 
XVI, but instead of them we have orders of ar- 
rest signed by Marat. It is no wonder that the 
country is torn to pieces. This has got to end 
soon ! ” 

“ Folks are saying,” said Planchot, “that Dan- 
ton’s trying to have Marat took up and tried.” 

“Yes, so I’ve heard myself,” William the Pa- 
triot answered. “But there’s this about it, Plan- 
chot — before we go to trying Marat we’ve got to try 
Louis Capet.” 

“ And in the meantime,” said Planchot, flaring 
up angrily, “ all the dogs in the country are mak- 
ing our laws ! Renegade Aristos — cattle like Ca- 
listo and Surto — and all the rascals in France are 
on top, robbing and burning and murdering just 
as they please! And they’re the very ones who’d 
be the first to enlist in the King’s Guards if the 
invaders got across our frontiers. Just you mark 
my words, William, we’ve got to get rid of the 
whole lot of them if we want to be safe ourselves. 
Unless we want the guillotine to shave us, we’ve 


26 o 


terror. 


got to go to work with it in a hurry and shave 
them ! ” 

“That’s true enough.” said Lazuli, “ and that’s 
just the Paris way. Now when we had our Revo- 
lution in Avignon we managed differently. We 
knew what we wanted to do and we did it — or 
sent our Vice Legate packing, and we got our 
government going in the right way. But we 
weren’t all mixed up. Everybody knew where 
everybody else was. Here you can’t tell who is 
White and who is Red, and nobody knows any- 
thing for sure. People are afraid to talk to each 
other, and they sneak off and denounce each other 
— and the best of them let the worst of them go 
ahead and make the laws. All is done secretly — 
in the dark. People are scared out of their wits 
and hide away and hold their tongues. The rob- 
bers rob and the murderers murder, but nobody 
opens his mouth about it — they just sit still and 
whimper and groan! And it’s all done quietly, 
there’s never a good shout or a song. At dead of 
night we hear the galloping hoofs of horses — but 
not a word! It might just as well be herds of 
cattle going through the streets. The only sound 
is the banging to of doors and shutters, and peo- 
ple moaning in a faint-hearted whisper, and bells 
sounding the alarm ! 

“That isn’t the way in Avignon. We man- 
age things better down there. We all know where 
we are, and we all have a good time. You’re 
White, say, and I’m Red. You’re from the streets 
of the Fustarie, I’m from the Carmelite quarter of 
the town. Weil, when the Reds are on top and 
are running things we dance rounds and farandoles 
in all the streets, and we light bonfires, and we’re 
as jolly as we can be. We have our rows, to be 
sure. The Reds and the Whites fight, of course. 


Mn Paris anb in ^rignon. 


261 


That’s human nature. But it’s all in broad day- 
light and everybody knows what’s going on. 
Now suppose the Whites get on top. Do things 
change ? Not a bit of it. The farandoles keep 
on, and we keep on dancing rounds. There are 
illuminations and the bells ring out Te Deums — 
and the Reds and the Whites have their fights in 
broad daylight, just the same. But we don’t have 
secret murders and we don’t have fires. Ifs 
mighty seldom that anybody’s killed. Only a few 
wounded, thaf s all. 

“And after a while a peace is patched up be- 
tween the two parties, and then we do have a 
good time! Then there’s a National Festival 
on the square in front of the Palace of the Popes; 
then there is high mass with all the music in the 
Eglise des Dorns; then you’ll see people hugging 
and kissing in the street instead of firing pistols at 
each other, and then everybody goes off to drink 
together in the same drinking shop. 

“Of course, before long, things get tangled up 
again, and off they go at their fighting. But no 
matter what happens, everybody is out in the 
streets having a jolly time of it, and the air is ring- 
ing with White songs or Red songs, and along 
with both of them we always have the jingle of 
our bells! Oh how good it will be to find our- 
selves once more in our dear Avignon! ” 

“All the same,” said William the Patriot, as 
he shook the ashes out of his pipe into the fire- 
place, “all the same, you had some pretty bad 
days down there.” 

“ You mean the killing of La Glaciere ? Yes, 
that was bad — as bad as it could be. But it lasted 
for just one night, and that was the end of it. In 
a single night we got rid of all our bad blood, and 
then the next day everybody was sorry for it. 


262 


(IT lie ®crr0r. 


Reds and Whites joined together in a solemn 
service to show that they really were sorry, and 
then everything was all right again. It was be- 
cause a few brutes got to the front — monsters 
like Surto and La Jacarasse and Calisto — that it 
happened at all. And nothing like it ever has 
happened again. Squabbles and rows in plenty 
there have been since, but always in broad day- 
light — and to tell the truth, there has been more 
noise than harm. 

“ Now I never shall forget that tenth of June, 
when the Whites, led by the ci-devant Monsieur 
de Rochegude, tried to get back the Hotel de Ville 
and set up again the Vice Legate. There were five 
or six hundred Aristos on the Place de I’Horloge, 
and they were armed with guns and had a cannon. 
They were packed thick in front of the Hotel de 
Ville, and they were determined that the Reds 
from the Carmelite quarter should not come to help 
the City Council penned up inside. Well, a Munic- 
ipal Guard — one of the reddest of the Reds — came 
right into the thick of them on his way to join his 
battalion over in the Rue des Grands-Carmes. The 
Whites pounced on him in no time, and dragged 
him across the Place de I’Hoiioge shouting ‘ Death 
to him ! Death to him !’ and they stood him up to 
shoot him in front of the Hotel de Ville. But one of 
the Whites got in front of him and said that shoot- 
ing him would be a black crime, and it shouldn’t 
be done. And that happened three or four times. 

“ Each time they tried to shoot him somebody 
stopped it that way. But they did think that they 
ought to scare him, so they tied him to the mouth 
of the cannon and said that they meant to blow 
him to bits. They kept him tied that way for two 
hours, and the flies bothered him dreadfully. Every 
now and then the cannoneer would flourish his 


Jfn Paris axib in ^rignon. 


263 


linstock under the poor man’s nose and singe his 
whiskers, and would tell him that the time had 
come and that he’d better make his peace with 
God. And some of them pricked him with their 
bayonets, and they did try to scare him all they 
could. But the end of it was that they untied him 
and told him to go about his business. And 
making fun like that is just our Avignon way. 

“But that isn’t the way here,” Lazuli con- 
cluded gloomily. “Isn’t it shameful, isn’t it an 
outrage, that two innocent women and an innocent 
little boy, like us, should have to hide ourselves 
here because those three wretches want our life ? ” 

“ Well, you may believe me. Lazuli,” said Plan- 
chot. “This sort of thing won’t last much longer. 
It’ll come to an end when Marat is put on trial. 
And Danton’s going to have him put on trial — 
that’s sure.” 

“No, it can’t be done yet,” put in William the 
Patriot. “One thing at a time, Planchot. We 
haven’t got along to Marat yet. We’ve got to try 
Capet first.” 

And then away went Liberty Planchot and 
William the Patriot in a hot argument — while the 
women knitted at their stockings and talked in low 
voice so that the flow of eloquence from the two 
politicians might not be disturbed. So went these 
night meetings — and always at the end of them the 
last word would be an echo of the first word : 

“ You will ask to-morrow, Planchot, if a coach 
has come in from Avignon ? And you will ask if 
any carters are starting on the Lyons Road ? ” And 
to both of these questions Planchot would answer 
heartily: “ Of course I will, bless your hearts.” 

So the days dragged on slowly, heavily — and 
they lengthened into weary weeks, into wearier 
months, and still no coach started for Avignon and 


264 


®l)e (terror. 


still no south-bound carter ventured to take the 
road. As for Lazuli, as she thought of Vauclair, 
home for a month and more with no news of her, 
she was in boiling oil! 

And Vauclair also was in boiling oil. When 
the down-coach passed him, as he marched home- 
ward with the Battalion, and he found that his 
people were not in it and that the coachman could 
not give him news of them, he was in a ferment — 
and bitterly reproached himself for having left his 
wife and the two children up there in Paris in the 
whirlpool of the Revolution. At first he was for 
going at once to the right about and marching back 
to Paris to find them and care for them. But from 
this the coachman, who was a good fellow, dis- 
suaded him. The coachman remembered his pas- 
sengers well, and how he had helped them to get 
away from La Jacarasse; and he promised Vauclair 
that he would himself go to Planchof s house and 
find them, and would bring them safely to Avignon 
on his next southward run. 

And the coachman would have done this, too, 
had he had a free hand. But on the return trip 
northward his coach was held up before it reached 
Lyons; and at Lyons — the city was in wild con- 
fusion when it got there — it was emptied of its 
mails and valuables and sent back empty to Avi- 
gnon by the Postmaster. It is said that the Post- 
master, by name Derrieux,,was in secret a Royalist 
and a Papalist, and that it was under a contract 
with the Lyons Aristocrats that he seized in their 
interest the despatches from the South and for a 
time broke up communication between the Southern 
Republicans and the Paris Government. 

When the coach at last came back to Avignon, 
empty, Vauclair did not know at first of what wood 
to make arrows. Two months and more had 


3n JJaris anb in ^tjignon. 


265 


passed since he had left his dear ones, and Decem- 
ber was coming on with its mists and its sleets and 
its snows. How could he get to them ? was his 
one thought; and the good fellow did not take long 
to make up his mind. From the coach office he 
went straight to his own house and made up his 
bundle. His two legs had brought him from Paris, 
and they should take him back again to Paris — it 
was only a matter of a hundred and fifty leagues! 
Then he went to headquarters to get his leave of 
absence — but when he opened the matter there his 
fellow members of the Corps de Garde listened 
with their arms in the air, and then told him that 
he must be mad. 

“Wait a little, Vauclair,” said Sergeant Beri- 
got. “ There’s no coach running, thafs true. But 
why can’t they come down in a carrier’s 

‘ ‘ Because, my good Berigot, ” Vauclair answered, 
“there is no carrier’s cart for them to come down 
in. For a month past I’ve been looking for a car- 
rier bound for Paris and I haven’t found one. 
There are none on the road.” 

“ Well, I know one who is to start for Paris this 
very night.” 

“You know one.?^ A good one — an honest 
man ? ” 

“ As good a fellow as you or I, and a Patriot to 
boot.” 

“ Who is he ? Tell me at once that I may go 
to him.” 

“You know Caritous, the big carrier in the Rue 
de la Carretarie ? Well, it’s his eldest son Jean. 
He’s to take the bells of the Augustine Convent up 
to Paris to be cast into cannon. He’s as good as 
bread. In the care of a man like that your wife 
will be as safe as though you fetched her yourself. 
And he’ll make quick time, too. He has the best 


266 


^\)c ® error. 


team of any carter in Avignon — and one of them 
is a horse with four white feet. You know what 
that means — he has the right of way over every 
other carrier on the road.” 

But before Berigot fairly had finished Vauclair 
was off at a run for the Rue de la Carretarie, and 
in five minutes he was talking with Jean Caritous 
beside the cart into which they were loading the 
Augustine Convent bells. In five minutes more 
Jean Caritous understood the whole matter, and 
told Vauclair that he’d do what was wanted of 
him and was glad of the chance to serve a good 
patriot and a good friend. 

1 know you well, Vauclair, and 1 like you,” he 
said heartily. “ But even if 1 didn’t, 1 know you for 
a patriot, and thaf s enough for me. Count on me. 
On the faith of a Caritous, I’ll bring back your wife 
and children safe and sound. 1 11 go myself to old 
Planchot’s for them, and if any one gets in my way 
— well, he’d better look out, for I’ll make my stick 
play around his ears! Hello there, Marius, put in 
the" big tilt. We’re to bring back a load that won’t 
stand rain or snow.” And Marius, Jean’s younger 
brother, brought out a big tarpaulin and loaded it 
among the bells. 

Vauclair grasped the carter’s hand and pressed it 
warmly as he said: “The charges on this load that 
you are to bring for me, Caritous, 1 can pay you, 
and 1 can pay back to you what you have to spend 
for me by the way. But for the rest that 1 can’t 
pay, 1 can only say that I’m trusting to you my 
wife and child.” 

“And you may trust me with them, Vauclair,” 
Caritous answered heartily, “as you would trust 
yourself. In eight weeks 1 shall be back again. 
My white-footed horse clears the way for me. I 
make the quickest trips of any carrier on the road.” 


Jfn Jparis anb in *;^ingnon. 


267 


“ May God be with you all the way ! ” said Vau- 
clair earnestly — and so went back to his lonely 
home in the Place du Grand Paradis. 

The little house that had been so bright and gay 
was dull and sad and dumb as a grave; but Vau- 
clair was cheered by the thoug:ht that what he had 
done that day soon would bring back its bright- 
ness, and that night he slept well. Yet when he 
woke in the dismal hour before dawn, and fell to 
counting the days that must pass before those far 
away dear ones could be with him, his spirits 
went down again. Even a carrier with a white- 
footed horse could not make the journey to Paris 
in less than four weeks; he must bide for a few 
days in Paris; and then it would take him another 
four weeks to return. At the very best, then, it 
would be a full two months before Vauclair could 
see his Lazuli and his Clairet and the gentle Ade- 
line who had twined herself around his heart. 

While poor Vauclair was twisting and turning 
in his bed, and counting the weary days and weeks 
that must pass before he would be on terms again 
with happiness, Jean Caritous was jogging along 
on the high road between Sorgues and Orange. 
Jean stepped out briskly, his beret stuck jauntily 
over one ear, his whip on his shoulder. He held 
the rein in his right hand as he walked beside his 
handsome blue cart with its four-inch-wide wheels. 
The three strong roan hoises drew it as easily as if 
it had been loaded only with straw or ble de Roma. 
They were brave in their finery of jingling bells 
and harness all decorated with green glass rings 
and tufts of red wool. The brass ornaments on 
their big collars, which ran up into a high peaked 
horn, glittered in the light. It was a cool frosty 
morning and the breaking dawn showed the breath 
puffed from the horses’ nostrils like white plumes. 


268 


®l)c terror. 


In the great fields bordering the roadside the 
slender green threads of the young wheat were 
pushing their way up through the brown earth. 
Here and there flocks of larks and linnets were 
gathered — fluffing up their feathers as they waited 
for the first sun-ray to shoot forth from behind the 
dark mass of Mont Ventour and warm up their 
little bodies. 

Flick flack! Jean Caritous warmed his hands 
by vigorously cracking his whip. Now and then 
he glanced at the cording of his load to see that all 
was secure. The bells were well stowed, yet at 
each jolt of the heavy axletrees they clanged soft- 
ly. It seemed as though they were talking mur- 
murously together over their strange voyage. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 

It would have been glad news for Adeline and 
Lazuli, pent up in their little room in Paris, could 
they have known that far off in their own dear 
South the cart of Jean Caritous — with its strange 
loading of murmurous bells — was drawing nearer 
to them each moment on its way to fetch them 
home. 

Not having this gladness to cheer them, the 
long gray December days went by sadly — and their 
own tears fell almost as persistently as the icy rain 
that fell from the dark sky and sent big drops roll- 
ing in endless monotony down their window- 
panes; and the gloom in their own hearts was in 
keeping with the gloomy mists and fogs outside. 
Only in the late evenings was there a little cheer 
for them, when the Planchots came flitting to them 
through the darkness and William the Patriot gave 
them his good company while he smoked his pipe. 
And even this small happiness had a bitter note in 
it. Through each one of the long gray days they 
hoped that when Planchot came he would tell 
them that he had seen the Avignon coach come in 
or that he had news of Vauclair. But at night 
these hopes always fell again — as Planchot told 
that no word had come to him of Vauclair, and 
that on the Lyons road he had seen only Surto or 
La jacarasse or Calisto keeping watch, or a sans- 
i8 269 


270 


®^rror. 


culotte on guard at the end of the alley on the Rue 
Saint-Antoine. 

But into their sad dull lives one little spot of 
brightness came, and Planchot’s wife was the 
maker of it. 

One night, when Christmas was near, Plan- 
chot’s wife said suddenly: “You don’t know 
what I’m thinking about! ” 

This was quite true, as was Lazuli’s answer: 
“No, we don’t — until you tell us about it.” 

“Well, it’s this,” said Planchot’s wife: “1 don’t 
see why we can’t have our Christmas Eve all to- 
gether.” 

“Oh how delightful!” cried Adeline, and she 
fairly clapped her hands with joy. 

But Planchot put in decisively: “It’s not even 
to be thought of ! You know as well as 1 do that 
every evening one of those scoundrels comes to 
listen at our keyhole and find out if we are alone.” 

“ Don’t scare so soon, my old Planchot,” said his 
wife. “We’ll have our festival here, in William 
the Patriot’s house, not in our house. That is, of 
course, if it will not put William out ?” 

‘ ‘ Put me out ? ” said that good patriot. ‘ ‘ Noth- 
ing puts me out. Do just as if it were your own 
house.” 

“Well,” observed Planchot, relenting, “ 1 have 
nothing to say against that plan. That’s quite an- 
other matter.” 

“ Heavens! ” cried Lazuli, as she hugged Clairet 
with all her might in order to waken him. “ Won’t 
that be delightful! Wake up, Clairet, wake up! 
Do you remember Christmas Eve ? ” 

“Clairet, Clairet, listen! ’’said Planchofs wife, 
shaking the child as she spoke. “ There’ll be nou- 
gat — plenty of nice red and white nougat! ” 

“I want some,” said Clairet, getting wide 


(Cliristmas 


271 


awake suddenly and taking a great interest in 
what was going forward. 

And then they all began to talk at once, each of 
them proposing something that would make this 
Christmas Eve in Paris like a Christmas Eve in 
Avignon. 

“There must be plenty of fougasses, of course,” 
said Planchot’s wife — and there was a touch of 
pride in her voice, for she knew that she made and 
fried these Christmas cakes better than words could 
tell! 

“And apple tarts,” said Planchot. Planchot 
adored his wife’s apple tarts. 

“ And a dish of cardes and a platter of snails,” 
said Lazuli in great excitement; and then, in the 
next moment, tears came to her eyes. 

“And we must bring in the Yule-log,” con- 
tinued Planchot, “and baptize it properly with 
good cordial wine.” 

“As for the snails,” said Planchot’s wife in an 
aggrieved tone, “I’m afraid we can’t have ’em. 
In this miserable Paris they’re not to be had. I’ve 
lived here, now, for a good thirty years, and I’ve 
never yet laid eyes on a single snail.” And Plan- 
chot’s wife was about to make some very severe 
comments upon Paris, when Lazuli suddenly held 
her apron up to her face and began to sob. So 
Planchot’s wife let Paris go unwhipped that time, 
and said instead: “Why, what in the world’s 
the matter with you } ” 

“ Oh, oh! ” cried Lazuli, wiping her brimming 
eyes with her apron. “I’ve got to spend my 
Christmas Eve away from my Vauclair. It just 
breaks my heart.” 

Adeline’s eyes filled with tears as she saw 
Lazuli weeping. But Adeline had also her own 
sad thoughts. 


272 


®l)c terror. 


Little Clairet felt that he must do something to 
console his mother. Putting his plump little arms 
as far around her as they would go he said: 
“ Don’t cry, mama. I’ll give you some of my nou- 
gat.” And he really did console her, for his childish 
words changed her tender tears to tender laughter 
— and then away they all went again to planning 
for the Christmas feast. It was the gayest evening 
that they had passed in the little room, and when 
they had separated for the night they still continued 
to think cheerfully of how they were to keep to- 
gether the greatest festival of the whole Provencal 
year. 

The very next day Adeline and Lazuli and 
Clairet began to crack the nuts for the nougat, and 
Planchot’s wife attacked her kneading trough as 
though it had been a city with towers! Adeline 
and Lazuli could see her fussing around in her 
kitchen, with Planchot getting in her way in his 
efforts to help her. Fougasse and pastry grew to 
perfection under her skilful hands. The frying- 
pan fairly sang like a starling. For nearly a week 
the alley was filled with delicious smells. 

At last came Christmas Eve; and the Great 
Supper — as they call it in Provence — over which 
there had been such a turmoil of preparation at last 
was served. On the table the three candles duly 
were lighted, and crowning the Christmas Loaf 
was a sprig of Provencal holly, calendau. But the 
chimney place was too small for a real Yule-log; 
all that they could do was to throw a bundle of 
shavings on the fire, and to pour on it the libation 
of vin ciiit as it sent up a roaring blaze. And then 
they all — William the Patriot, Liberty Planchot, 
Planchofs wife, Adeline, Lazuli, and Clairet — sat 
down together to the feast. 

Planchot’s wife was quite overcome by the 


Cliristntae (gt)c. 


273 


compliments passed upon her cooking — and in her 
heart of hearts rejoiced greatly, knowing them to be 
deserved. In the place of snails, they ate an ideal 
brandade — in which the brayed codfish was beaten 
up so lightly with the oil and garlic that it seemed 
a dream ! And celery took the place of the crisp 
white stalks of the cardes. Then came the sweets 
— the fougasses, the tarts, the fritters, the cakes, 
the nougat — and along with these the cordial wine 
and the rich muscatel. It was almost as though 
they all were home again in the dear Provence! 

“ Clairet, Clairet,” his mother kept saying. 
“You will crack your little stomach — and your 
head will go all buzzing if you drink so much 
wine! ” 

“Let him alone,” said old Planchot, a little 
thickly. “The bed isn’t far off ! ” 

“Wine does no harm when taken on a full 
stomach,” said Planchofs wife — and she gave the 
little boy another slice of tart. 

The time for singing noels had come. Plan- 
chot — his eyes shining and his nose and cheeks 
as red as fire — got up on his rather unsteady legs 
and was about to start off with Saboly’s 

Turo luro luro 
Lou gau canto, 

but at the very instant that he was opening his 
mouth Lazuli sprang up from the table and going 
pale as she spoke cried sharply: “Hush! hush, 
Planchot! Somebody’s knocking at the door! ” 
They all were silent for a moment. Then 
William the Patriot said: “You must be mis- 
taken, Lazuli. 1 certainly would have heard it 
had there really been a knock at my door.” 

“ And who in the world would come knocking 
at anybody’s door at such a time of night ? ” added 
Planchofs wife. 


274 


®I)e QLexxox. 


But hardly were the words out of her mouth 
when bang! bang! bang! came three tremendous 
knocks — and by the sound they knew that the 
knocking was not on William the Patriot’s door, 
but on Planchot’s; and it seemed as though the 
knocker meant to pound the door down. 

“Good Heavens! ” cried Adeline, throwing her 
arms around Lazuli. “ It’s La Jacarasse! ” 

“Fear nothing,” said William the Patriot, ris- 
ing. “ I’ll see what’s the matter. But be sure of 
this much: no one comes into my house whom I 
want to keep out! ” As he spoke he made a sign 
to Planchot to keep his seat and to be silent; and 
then opening the window and opening the shutters 
a little, he called out: “ I say there! What do you 
want 

“I want Planchot,” a man’s deep voice an- 
swered out of the blackness of the street. 

“ What do you want with him ?” 

“ What do I want ? That’s nobody’s business 
but mine and his.” 

“ Who are you ? ” 

“I’m myself. What business is it of yours 
who I am ?” 

“You needn’t be so close-mouthed. Planchot 
never opens his door as late as this. You may 
pound as long as you please. You won’t get any 
answer.” 

“Somebody’s got to answer me,” said the 
man ; and as he spoke he gave three such rousing 
knocks that they were enough to fetch the house 
down. 

“I tell you it’s no good making such a row. 
The Planchots never open their door at night.” 

“And I say I’ve got to speak to them, and 
they’ve got to open their door, and quick too! 
I’m in a hurry — a devil of a hurry! ” 


€l)risttna0 (!Et)e. 


275 


“ That man up there’s right,” said a third voice. 
“The Planchots won’t open their door after night- 
fall.” 

“And who may you be.?” asked the pounder, 
taken aback by hearing a voice out of the darkness 
close beside him. 

“ I’m your fellow-countryman,” the voice con- 
tinued. “ Aren’t you the carter who arrived to-day 
with a load of bells from Avignon .? ” 

“Yes, that’s me. And 1 have a message for 
Planchot from one of his old workmen down there 
in Avignon.” 

“Come along with me then, and we’ll touch 
glasses — and you can give your message to-mor- 
row. , If you don’t want to come so far. I’ll be 
glad to come in your place and to tell him all you 
want to say.” And with this the two in the alley 
walked away together, and in another moment the 
sound of their footsteps was lost as they passed out 
into the Rue Saint-Antoine. 

It was plain to all of the little company that a 
message had come from Vauclair and that their 
opportunity to receive it had slipped away; but 
by Adeline and Lazuli, who had recognized the 
voice of the man with whom the carrier had gone 
away to touch glasses, this mishap was perceived 
to be a catastrophe. Trembling and pale, with 
one voice they cried: “ It is Calisto! ” 

Their announcement caused a lively sensation 
among the others. Planchot dashed the sweat 
from his forehead; his wife flung her arms above 
her head; William the Patriot looked very grave. 

“ My Vauclair, my own Vauclair! ” sighed La- 
zuli. “You have sent some one to lead us away 
from the path of death and safe across the hills of 
fear — and our ill fate has lost us your guide and 
still will fling us into the murderer’s claws!” 


276 


®err0r. 


William the Patriot, who had a very sensible 
head on his shoulders, took a hopeful view of the 
situation and did his best to comfort them. ‘ ‘ There 
is no need to despair,” he said. “To-morrow the 
carrier will come back and everything will go 
well.” 

“Do you really think that he’ll comeback.?” 
Planchot’s wife asked doubtfully. 

“I am absolutely certain of it,” William the 
Patriot answered. 

“But he will have told everything to Calisto,” 
said Planchot gloomily. And Planchot shook his 
head. 

“Not a bit of it!” replied William the Patriot. 
“That carrier’s no fool! He’s as close-mouthed 
about his own business as an oyster. Didn’t you 
see how he held me off twice over when I tried to 
make him tell me his name and his errand ? ” 

“Yes, that’s true,” Lazuli said mournfully. 
“But then Calisto is so cunning and so sharp! 
He talks so well that he’ll worm it all out of the 
man in no time. Or perhaps he’ll settle the mat- 
ter by killing him.” 

“ Come, come now. Men don’t kill each 
other off that way; and even if they did, little 
runts like Calisto don’t kill strapping fellows like 
that carrier. I couldn’t make him out very well 
down there in the shadows, but he seemed to be 
a big enough man to pick up a pair of Calistos in 
each hand and crack them like castanets.” 

“Well, for my part,” said Planchot, “1 think 
that there’s no sense in taking trouble on interest. 
We know that an Avignon carrier has come here to 
bring news of Vauclair. That much is good. 
To-morrow I’ll hunt for him till I find him. And 
then, no matter what he’s said to that dirty rascal, 
we’ll find some way to get you all safely started 


(flbriatmas (i.vc. 


277 


for home in his cart. We’ll do it even if we have 
to take you off under our escort with bayonets! 
Eh, William ? And now we’ll go on with our 
celebration of Christmas Eve! ” 

“Right you are, Planchot,” said William the 
Patriot, and he held out his glass to be filled with 
cordial wine — while Planchof s wife began to cut 
up the Christmas cake and pass it around in big 
slices, and Planchot set himself to cracking up the 
nougat, and then to pouring out for everybody 
full glasses of vin cuit and muscatel. But nothing 
more was said about singing noels; and all of 
them spoke in low voices, as though they feared 
that some one might be listening below. Adeline 
and Lazuli tried their best to be cheerful, but did 
not succeed very well. Their hearts were full of 
thoughts of Vauclair, and of longing to know 
what the message was that he had sent to them, 
and of sorrow for his anxious dread on their be- 
half. And most of all were they eager to see the 
carrier — who had come to them straight from 
Vauclair and whose hand, when they grasped it, 
would seem almost like Vauclair’s own. 

And so the latter part of the Christmas feast 
was less cheerful than the early part of it had 
been; but they did not cut it short, and not until 
the candles had burned down to the sockets and 
set fire to their paper fillings did it come to an end. 
Clairet alone enjoyed the whole of it. He stuffed 
himself until his little skin was stretched tight as a 
drumhead, and ended by laying his head on the 
table and going sound asleep. 

When the candles began to flare, William the 
Patriot got up and opened the window gently and 
peered out to make sure that the coast was clear; 
and Planchot and his wife rose and said good 
night — and Planchot promised to set off early in 


278 


0^l)e terror. 


the morning to find the Avignon carrier and to 
hurry back to them with the news. Then in the 
dark they went downstairs on tiptoe, ran across 
the alley softly, and in a moment were inside their 
own house and silently locking and barring their 
door. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW. 

The night that followed was a long one for 
Adeline and Lazuli. They could not sleep. They 
turned and twisted in their bed. They sighed and 
sobbed together, and endlessly talked. At one 
moment they would be full of hope — confident 
that they were going right back to Avignon with 
the carrier and in a little while would see Vauclair. 
And then their minds would be filled with dread 
that the coming of the carrier was only a trick 
which Calisto and La Jacarasse and Surto had put 
upon them, and they would go a-trembling as 
though already they were caught in those wretches’ 
claws. And so, as they tossed between fear and 
hope, the night went on wearily. It seemed to 
them the longest night that they ever had known. 

“Will daylight never come.?” sighed Adeline. 
“ I can’t understand it. More than an hour ago I 
heard William the Patriot stirring about down 
stairs.” 

“Yes, and I heard him go out,” said Lazuli. 
“ I can’t understand it either. There must be one 
of the thick fogs they have so often up here.” 

“Mama! mama!” cried Clairet from his little 
bed. 

“ What do you want so early ? Go bye-bye 
again.” 

“Mama, I’m hungry. 1 want some nougat.” 

279 


28 o 


Ql\)c terror. 


“The deuce is in the boy!” said Lazuli. 
“Nobody eats nougat at night, Clairet. Go 
to sleep.” 

“ It’s not night, it’s daytime. 1 see a little light 
in the window.” 

“You see light ?” said Lazuli, as she sat up in 
bed and looked at the window sharply. And 
then she clapped her hands together and cried, 
“What a pair of geese we are! Of course it’s 
dark in here. The shutters are fastened tight and 
not a scrap of daylight can get in ! ” And with 
that Lazuli jumped out of bed, slipped on a petti- 
coat, and in another moment had pushed the shut- 
ters wide open with her bare arms. Instantly a 
flood of brilliant white light poured into the room 
and forced all three of them to shut their dazzled 
eyes. 

“Oh get up, get up, children! ” called Lazuli. 
“ Come and see the lovely white snow.” 

“Snow, snow!” cried Adeline. “Oh, how 
delightful! ” and she jumped up to run and see it. 

Clairet still was trying to get out of his crib 
when his mother snatched him up in her arms and 
stood him up on the window sill in front of the 
glass and showed him the street as white as a table- 
cloth. 

“I want some of that sugar,” said Clairet, 
sucking his finger as he spoke. 

“Oh you little glutton!” said his mother as 
she covered him with kisses. “ You think that’s 
good to eat! It’s snow, that’s what it is! It’s 
frozen, it would make your teeth fall out.” 

While she was kissing him and hugging him 
to her with unspeakable thrills of mother-love, 
two little sparrows came down and perched on 
the window-ledge. 

“Oh the pretty little birds!” cried Adeline, 


®i)e first fail of Snooj. 


281 


clasping her hands. “See how hungry they are 
— they are pecking at the snow. Let us give 
them some crumbs.” 

She opened the glass very gently and sprinkled 
on the window-ledge all the crumbs she could 
gather from the remains of the feast. And then 
the two little sparrows stuffed themselves with 
good things all the morning long, to the intense 
delight of Lazuli ‘and of the two children. 

But to anxious people black thoughts return 
again and again, and in a little while Lazuli said 
sadly : “ It has been a happy time for those two little 
birds who have been feasting on the crumbs of 
our feast; but the other little sister and brother 
birds, up there under the eaves and on the roofs, 
are cold and frozen and without a grain of corn or 
a crumb of bread in their little crops. Poor little 
things, how many of them must die before to- 
morrow! See them up there, all bunched up into 
little balls, with half-closed eyes! Some will die 
of cold as the snow covers them up. Some have 
their heads under their wings and are trying to 
sleep sheltered by a roof-tile. The wickedly cun- 
ning cat is on the lookout and will come crawling, 
crawling, until with a sudden spring she will be 
on the little bird and her sharp teeth will sink into 
the tender little body. See, there are some little 
sparrows squeezed up close to a chimney. They 
at least are warm and don’t feel their hunger so 
much. They’ll fall asleep and die little by little — 
dreaming, peihaps. that they are in the birds’ para- 
dise!” 

“Pecaire! Poor little things! Poor little 
things!” said Adeline. “Can’t we get bread 
crumbs to them ! ” 

“Child, we are not cats — we can’t go crawl- 
ing over the roofs.” 


282 


®mor. 


All three sadly looked at the hungry little birds 
pecking away at their nice breakfast on the window- 
ledge, and for some time did not notice that 
Planchot’s wife was at her window making signs 
to them. At last she opened her window and be- 
gan fussily to brush the snow from the window- 
ledge that she might draw their eyes toward her. 
Then they saw her, and the birds were forgotten 
as they waved welcomes to her and blew her 
kisses. 

Planchot’s wife shut her window and from in- 
side the room made signs to tell to them that 
Planchot had risen very early and had gone after 
the Avignon carrier. 

“How kind Planchot is!” said Lazuli. “Did 
you understand, children, what his wife was try- 
ing to tell us — that he got up early, before day- 
light, and has gone off to hunt up the carrier.^” 

“ And in weather like this! Poor Planchot!” 
added Adeline. 

“ That Avignon man might have come back 
here this morning early himself and saved Planchot 
the trouble of hunting for him,” said Lazuli. 

“Yes,” assented Adeline. “But then who 
knows what stories Calisto told him to keep him 
away ?” 

“Don’t speak to me of that man! I’m more 
afraid of him than 1 am of La Jacarasse.” 

While they talked they were putting the room 
in order and clearing up the remains of the Christ- 
mas feast, but stopping from time to time to look 
across to see if Planchot had returned. They 
longed to open the window and look out for him, 
but that was forbidden absolutely — the danger was 
too great. And then they waited and waited 
while the hours went by slowly — but Planchot did 
not come. Over across the way they could see 


®l)e first i^all of Snoto. 


283 


his wife, behind her window panes, beginning to 
shake her head and fling up her arms in despair. 

The sky had clouded over again, and more 
snow butterflies had begun to flutter down from 
the skies. Again and again Planchot’s wife opened 
her window and looked out to see if Planchot were 
in sight. Each time she drew back looking sad- 
der and sadder. Adeline and Lazuli almost forgot 
their own sorrow in their sympathy with her 
anxiety, and they did their best to comfort her by 
making hopeful signs. But the old woman only 
shook her head dismally, and from time to time 
wiped away her tears. She settled down at last 
in front of her window, and did seem to be con- 
soled a little by the company of her friends — who 
were sharers of her anxiety, and who also from 
time to time wiped away some tears. 

And all this while the weather grew worse and 
worse. The snow fell so thickl/ that presently 
nothing could be seen through tne white curtain 
which seemed to have dropped between the two 
houses; and there came on slowly a cold, dark, 
dismal night. The wind howled and whined 
through the cracks of the doors and windows, 
sounding like the eager moans of ghosts or gob- 
lins striving to enter the room. Still Planchot did 
not come. His poor wife could not eat a morsel, 
nor could the other two women, so anxious were 
they all. 

Lazuli lighted the lamp, and with Adeline sat 
silently waiting. They listened for footsteps in the 
alley, forgetting that the snow would deaden any 
footsteps there. There was not a sound — even the 
rumble of wheels that usually came from the Rue 
Saint-Antoine was stilled. Planchot’s wife also had 
lighted her lamp, and as the snow began to fall less 
heavily they could see her seated before the fire in 


284 


® error. 


her kitchen. She shook her poor old head and 
from time to time wiped away her tears with her 
apron. 

“Heavens!” said Lazuli. “What can have 
happened ? William the Patriot never has been 
out so late, and except on club nights Planchot 
never leaves his wife this way alone.” 

At last, without putting out the light, they went 
to bed — if lying down with all their clothes on can 
be called going to bed. But before they had lain 
there long they were startled by a loud knock. 

“It’s Planchot come back,” cried Lazuli, and 
she jumped from the bed and ran to the window. 
In a moment Adeline was beside her — and togeth- 
er they looked across into Planchot’s kitchen, from 
time to time rubbing the window with their aprons 
as their breath froze upon and clouded the panes. 
The snow had stopped falling. The kitchen was 
brightly lighted. Except that they heard nothing, 
it was almost as though they were all together in 
one room. 

There was Planchot, wrapped up in his big 
furry cloak, covered with snow, and looking like 
some queer sort of bear! He shook himself like a 
dog just out of the water and sent the snow flying 
around him, sparkling in the light from the kitchen 
fire as if he were some new kind of firework in 
the act of going off. His wife, throwing her arms 
about at a great rate, was talking away to him. 
Evidently she was scolding him for being so late. 
Planchot seated himself in front of the fire and did 
not seem to mind her scolding much. He smiled 
as he warmed himself. 

His wife continued her scolding while she 
fussed around him — setting dishes on the table, 
bringing out a bottle of wine, and getting his sup- 
per ready. Suddenly she stopped and pointed 


®l)e SixQt iTttU of SnotD. 


285 


through the window to the shadowy forms of 
Lazuli and Adeline. 

At this Planchot jumped up from his comfort- 
able seat in a hurry. In a moment he had put on 
his big cloak and then, with his wife following 
him, went out through the kitchen door. A min- 
ute later they had crossed the alley — and at his 
own door met William the Patriot. Together the 
three of them came up the stairs, from the head of 
which Lazuli and Adeline rained down questions 
upon them as to why they were so late and as to 
where they had been. 

Planchot advanced under the fire steadily, with- 
out speaking a word. It continued briskly as he 
and William the Patriot entered the room and took 
off their cloaks. Lazuli and Adeline had each one 
of his hands, begging him for news of Vauclair. 
But still Planchot was speechless. Presently, in 
surprise, the two women were silent; and then, in 
solemn tones and in a voice broken with a joyful 
emotion, Planchot spoke: “To-morrow,” he said, 
“ Louis Capet will be brought before the Conven- 
tion and. put on trial! ” 

“ But haven’t you seen the Avignon carrier.^” 
Lazuli asked, sharply. 

“And then his account will be settled for good 
and all,” continued Planchot, paying no attention 
whatever to Lazuli’s question. 

“Do tell us, Planchot,” Adeline asked eagerly, 
“if you found the inn where the carrier is lodg- 
ing?” 

“His punishment must be death!” went on 
Planchot. “Nothing less than death will wipe out 
his crimes! ” 

“1 agree with you,” said William the Patriot. 
“A traitor to the Nation, a traitor to his country, 

merits death. But ” 

19 


286 


terror. 


“ But what ? You go with the ‘ huts,’ do you ? ” 
roared Planchot, and he stamped his foot with 
rage. 

“No, I don’t go with the ‘huts.’ Only when 

it comes to condemning him to death ” 

“ Oh yes, yes, I know what you mean. You’d 
like to drag the thing out. You are entirely too 
kind-hearted, William. When we are with wolves, 
we must howl with them — and for my part. I’d 
like to see him strung up to-night! ” 

“Oh come, Planchot,” said his wife, “all this 
isn’t the question at all. Do answer Lazuli. Did 
you or did you not see the carrier 

“ And I say that if he’s not strung up to-night, 
to-morrow we’ll see all the scum of Paris — all the 
Surtos and Calistos and such like — paid by the 
Aristocrats to rescue him as he is taken from the 
Temple to the Convention.” 

“Lord, how pig-headed you are!” said his 
wife, out of all patience with him. “You must 
have been drinking! ” 

“Pig-headed, I.? No, I’m a just man. But I 
say death to him ! The very stones cry out that he 
must die! ” shouted Planchot. 

“I believe my man has become a changeling! 
Tell me, my own Planchot, where did you get 
your dinaer 

“ Where did I get my dinner ? What on earth 
can that be to you ? ” 

■‘Well, you can tell me at any rate.” 

“ I got it at the Aramon woman’s.” 

And you drank Tavel wine 
“Not much, only a couple of bottles.” 

“Were there two of you ? Did you have the 
Avignon carrier with you ? ” 

“ I was alone — he couldn’t come.” 

Where did you leave him ? ” 


®l)e Iix5i f^all of Snouj. 


287 


“At the cannon-foundry of Saint Thomas 
d’lnfer.” 

“Oh Planchot!” cried Lazuli, who could hold 
her tongue no longer. “What did he tell you 
Tell me what he told you about my Vauclair! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE SPARROWS OF PARIS. 

Planchot’s wife had succeeded in making a 
diversion. Her pointed questions as to where 
Planchot had dined, and how much Tavel wine he 
had drunk with his dinner, had stemmed the cur- 
rent of his violent patriotism. At last he gave 
heed to Lazuli’s eager inquiries to answer her. 

“ All is going very well with Vauclair,” he said. 
“It was Vauclair who sent the carrier here, and 
with orders to take you home to Avignon in his 
cart. If only that worm of a Calisto had not mixed 
himself up in the matter everything would have 
been by this time arranged. ” 

“ But did Calisto find out?” Lazuli asked anx- 
iously. “ Did the carrier tell him ? ” 

.“The carrier’s a sensible man. He smelt a rat 
and he remembered that ‘ a still tongue never is 
bitten.’ He told Calisto that my wife and I were 
his cousins, and that he’d come to bring us 
news of our folks in Avignon. And when they’d 
had their drink together at the Cabaret des Sans- 
culottes he said good-night and went away to 
his bed.” 

“Then Calisto and the others don’t know?” 

“ That I’m not so sure of. They are not stupid 
and they don’t sleep much, the people who are 
watching us. I passed three of them at the end 
of the alley as 1 came in just now. It’s cold weather 
288 


(^l)c SparrottjQ of Paris. 


289 


for spy duty; but there they were, tramping about 
in the snow.” 

“And there were three of them there when I 
went out this morning at daylight,” said William 
the Patriot. “You are right, Planchot, they are a 
keen lot.” 

“And so I told the carrier not to come back 
here. 1 told him that I’d meet him to-morrow at 
the Convention.” 

“Then we won’t see him at all!” said Lazuli 
in a sadly disappointed tone. 

“ You know we must be there very early, Wil- 
liam,” continued Planchot, paying no attention to 
Lazuli’s remark. “We must be there in our 
cocked hats, with our muskets loaded and our 
bayonets fixed. The Aristocrats, you know, are 
making their arrangements to rescue him as he is 
taken from the Temple to the Convention.” 

“ I’ll be there. I’ll be there before daylight, 
and we won’t lose sight of him,” answered Wil- 
liam the Patriot. 

“But when can we start Adeline ventured 
to ask. 

“We’ll talk about that after the Tyrant has 
been tried — and after he has made his bow to the 
People,” said Planchot, and he winked at William 
the Patriot as he spoke. 

“Will he soon bow to the people ” asked 
Adeline, who did not understand the meaning ot 
the phrase. 

“If there was nobody but me to consult, his 
bow would have been made long ago,” Planchot 
answered grimly. 

William the Patriot was the only one who knew 
what Planchot meant. When an Aristocrat, or any 
traitor to the Nation, lost his head beneath the 
guillotine, it was the custom of the crowd of sans- 


290 


®l)e Qlcxtox, 


lottes to shout as it fell into the basket: “That 
man has made his bow to the people. His debt is 
paid! ” 

Lazuli, grievously disappointed, came back to 
their own affairs. “ But shall we not leave either 
to-morrow or the day after to-morrow ? ” she asked. 

“No indeed,” Planchot answered. “In the 
first place, the snow is too deep, and in the second 
place the Avignon man must have a load to carry 
back with him. And whafs the most important 
of all, we’ve got to find some way of getting you 
out of here without those devils getting wind of it.” 

“To-morrow would have been a good day,” 
said William the Patriot. “Calisto and the others 
certainly will post themselves on the Tyranf s route, 
so as to lend a hand to the Aristocrats, if they ven- 
ture to make a move.” 

“ That’s true enough, William. But we can’t 
even think about it until all this business is over. 
And now I’m off to sharpen my axe.” 

Planchot arose, shook hands hastily with La- 
zuli and Adeline, and went down the stairs. As 
his wife followed him she shook her head and flung 
up her arms as much as to say: “Heavens! how 
he has been drinking — and what a day we shall 
spend to-morrow! ” 

All the same, the home-coming of Planchot, 
and the news that he brought them of the carrier, 
put fresh hope into the hearts of Lazuli and Ade- 
line. After their company had gone they were able 
to eat a morsel, and to go to bed with their minds 
much more at ease. They fell asleep to the hissing 
murmur of Planchofs grindstone, as he put an 
edge on his axe. 

The next day, though it was very early when 
they looked out of the window, they saw Planchot 
and William the Patriot in their uniform of the 


(Jl)e SpatrotDs of JJaris. 


291 


National Guard starting off to take their share in 
guarding the Tyrant. And while they still stood 
at the window, in hopes of getting a glimpso of 
Planchot’s wife in her kitchen — fr-r-r-ou ! a sparrow 
came flying down and lighted on the snowy win- 
dow-ledge. He was fluffed up into a little round 
ball, and he was alone. 

“ The other must be dead,” said Adeline, with 
a long sigh. 

“ Quick! Quick! ” said Lazuli. “ Let us brush 
off the snow and give him some crumbs. See, he 
is all up in a ball and can scarcely stand on his 
poor little thin legs. Lm afraid he’ll fall. He 
barely can keep his eyes open! ” 

As Lazuli spoke, she opened the window very 
gently and reached out her hand to brush off the 
snow. The half-frozen unhappy little bird almost 
let himself be caught. It was not until her hand 
was close upon him that he made a violent effort 
and flew up to the top of the shutter. 

“Don’t fly away, dear pretty little bird,” said 
Adeline in her softest voice. “ Don’t fly away, we 
have such nice bread crumbs for you! ” 

The bird put his head on one side and looked 
at her out of his half-closed eyes. Adeline went 
on : “ And where is your poor little comrade ? He 
isn’t dead, surely ? The wicked cat hasn’t caught 
him ? No, no, he mustn’t be dead. Come, dear 
little bird, come and eat the nice crumbs — then fly 
away and tell your brother sparrow and all your 
sister sparrows that here on our window-sill is 
food for all little birds starved with cold and 
hunger.” 

With her delicate little fingers she scattered the 
crumbs of a whole slice of bread, and as soon as 
the glass was closed the hungry bird flew down 
and began to peck away with might and main. 


292 


(S:i)e (terror. 


But Clairet, unluckily, had heard Adeline talking 
to the sparrow. In a moment he was out of bed 
and beside them. And then standing on tiptoe, he 
shouted : “I want him ! I want him ! ” 

“Don’t make such a noise, Clairet,” said his 
mother, as she wrapped her apron around him to 
keep him warm. 

“Hush, Clairet,” said Adeline. “Let him eat. 
See, there’s a big cat out there in the street watch- 
ing him.” 

True enough, a big cat was seated in front of 
Planchot’s door with his tail wrapped around him. 
From there he fixed his green eyes with their nar- 
row black slits on the little bird, who pecked and 
pecked away. 

“1 want him! I want him! ” shouted Clairet, 
banging his fist on the window-pane. 

The sparrow, not knowing what was to come 
next, flew off in a great fright across the street and 
struck against the wall of Planchot’s house. He 
lost his balance, tried for a moment to right him- 
self, and then in his weakness fell down with 
fluttering wings almost on the head of the big cat 
— who eagerly stretched out her claws! 

Adeline and Lazuli screamed as they saw what 
had happened to the little creature and how close 
he was to death — but in a moment drew a long 
breath as they saw him flutter up and cling to the 
projecting lintel of Planchot’s door. He sat there 
spreading out his wings, supporting his little body 
as much on their tips and on his tail as on his thin 
little pipes of legs. The cat, choused out of her 
breakfast, sat down again with an indifferent air 
and again wrapped her tail around her, but her 
eyes remained fixed on the exhausted bird. 

Lazuli picked up Clairet and carried him off to 
his bed and dressed him, saying to him as he did 


S^jarrotDS of Paris. 


293 


so: “There, you naughty boy, that will teach 
you not to frighten poor little birds.” 

All the morning the sparrow clung to his perch 
while the women watched him. Planchofs wife 
grew as much interested as they were and threw 
out to him some tempting crumbs — but the poor 
little creature would not notice them. He stuck 
his head under his wing and perhaps went to 
sleep. Now and then a gust of wind would drive 
some snowflakes over him, and before very long he 
was wrapped in a white winding-sheet. The cat 
at last Tost patience and went off. She walked 
slowly, carefully picking her way, and looking for 
the best place to plant her feet — which she shook 
each time that she raised them. She looked back 
again and again to see if the bird had moved and 
was likely to fall into the street. Regretfully she 
kept on her way, and finally vanished into a cellar 
window and they saw her no more. 

Planchofs wife could not stand being all alone 
two days running. She looked out to make sure 
that the alley was empty, and then — putting her 
dinner in a stew-pot and her knitting in her pocket 
— she went over and joined the others in their 
little room. And she had a great deal to tell them 
— all that she had wrung out of her man during 
the night. She knew the name of the carrier, 
what he had come to Paris for, what Vauclair had 
said to him, when he would return, and where he 
was lodged. And out it all came with a whiz! 
They talked so fast and so hard that they forgot 
the poor little bird breathing his last gasp on the 
lintel of the door. 

“You say his name is Jean Caritous ” said 
Lazuli. 

“ Yes, Jean Caritous of the Rue de la Carre- 
terie.” 


294 


®l)e terror. 


“ I think I know him. Is he a young man ? ” 

“ Certainly, and he’s going to be married.” 

“ If he’s going to be married he won't want 
to loiter in Paris — he’ll leave soon,” cried Lazuli joy- 
fully. 

“He said he meant to leave as soon as the 
snow thawed and he’d bought what he wants for 
his wedding.” 

“Oh this wretched snow! ” cried Adeline. 

And he never told Calisto what he was to do 
for us .^ ” 

“Not a bit of it. You can’t put salt on his tail! 
And he and Planchot have been making their plans 
for getting you safe to his cart and away in it.” 

And at this delightful news Adeline and Lazuli 
fell to counting the days before they could start — 
allowing so many for the snow to melt, so many 
for the carrier's shopping, and so many for his 
getting together his return load — for they knew 
that no good carrier would take the road with an 
empty cart. It all was so interesting that they did 
not notice the waning of the daylight, and only 
stopped when they heard Planchot stamping the 
snow off his shoes at his door. 

“Heavens! There's my man — and nothing 
can be colder than the ashes on my hearth ! ” cried 
Planchot’s wife, jumping up in a hurry and run- 
ning down the stairs. 

When she joined her man, a minute later, she 
found him in a desperately bad humour. He was 
stamping about and gesticulating and swearing all 
by himself. 

“Well, what’s the matter now.^” she asked, 
as they entered the house. 

“ Matter! ” he broke out. “ Hold your tongue! 
Don’t speak to me! To think they call them- 
selves men! They are no better than drenched 


®lie S^atrottts of | 3 aris. 


295 


hens ! ” and he swung his axe from off his shoulder 
and stuck it with a jar into the block. “The 
matter is,” he went on, “that the Tyrant has not 
been tried. All day long those lawyers have jab- 
bered and jabbered before the Convention, and 
judgment has been ‘postponed.’ And I should 
just like to know,” Planchot went on, crimson with 
anger, “if that’s the kind of case to ‘postpone’.^ 
Isn’t it clear as day that Louis Capet has conspired 
with foreign kings and emperors against the Nation ? 
And what do they mean by wanting to have the 
sentence ‘ ratified by the people ?’ As if he, when 
he took a fancy to send some one to die of hunger 
in the Bastille, ever asked any advice from the 
people! All this is to gain time. They want to 
get him off ! ” 

No matter what his wife did or said, she could 
not get Planchot away from this great grievance. 
Back he would come to his Capet and his Tyrant. 
It was impossible to find out whether he had seen 
the carriers or had made any preparations for the 
departure of Adeline and Lazuli. 

Fortunately William the Patriot’s blood was 
cooler than Planchot’s, and when he came home 
the prisoners in the little room heard some good 
news. Jean Caritous had come to the Convention, 
and everything had been arranged. Spies were 
set upon him, he said, at the Inn of the Three 
Light-houses, where he was stopping, and it 
would be useless to attempt anything there. 
From there he would start openly with the tilt of 
his cart turned back so that any one could see that 
he carried no passengers. He would go on to the 
Inn of the White Pigeon; and to that inn, at night, 
Planchot and William the Patriot were to bring Ade- 
line and Lazuli and Clairet And then the cart really 
would leave Paris on its way to Avignon. 


296 


QL\)c bettor. 


“To-day would have been a capital day to 
start,” said William the Patriot, “for the three 
scoundrels have been in the Convention all day 
long. 1 saw them there. They followed the King 
when he came from the Temple, and they followed 
him back again. No doubt they are in the Aristo- 
crat plot to deliver him. To-day you might have 
gone and come in the Rue Saint-Antoine and on 
the Place du Faubourg de Gloire without. any one 
noticing you at all. You would not have met any 
of them. But never mind — another good day will 
come — and then we’ll get you safe away! ” 

There was comfort for the two poor women in 
these firmly spoken words. Yet they were full of 
fears of they knew not what; for there was a thrill- 
ing dread as well as a thrilling joy at the thought 
of getting to their cart in the dead of night in mid- 
winter, and of starting away on a journey for 
which only most sanguine hope could prophesy 
a happy end. 

“ Ah, whfen will the snow melt ? ” they sighed, 
while William the Patriot was unfolding to them 
these plans; and the next morning this was their 
first thought. When they awoke at daylight, they 
ran to the window to see if the snow had melted 
at all — but only to find that more had fallen during 
the night. And another sorrow came with that 
outlook that wrung from each of them a cry of 
pain. Across the street, on the lintel of Planchot’s 
door, their little friend the sparrow was lying dead. 
He was spread out on his back and was almost 
covered by the snow. Nothing was visible of 
him but the tip of his beak and his wings, and his 
two little thin pipes of legs sticking straight up in 
the air. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


.GOOD NEWS OF AN OLD FRIEND. 

The days dragged slowly on. Wearily the 
two women watched the unmelting snow. Hope 
ever seemed farther and farther away. They 
talked but little, and Lazuli only of her Vauclaif. 
He must come himself and deliver them, she said. 
Only he could do it — her brave Vauclair! But if 
they talked little they wept much: silently, clasped 
close in each other's arms. 

It was at the end of one of these bitter long 
days, when dusk was falling, that they heard 
Planchot coming up the stairs followed by his 
wife and by William the Patriot. Planchot was 
speaking very earnestly, as though something of 
great importance had happened. They could hear 
his words: “I said to him, ‘His death or thine!’ 
and he answered me, ‘You are no patriot if you 
have any doubts of Barbaroux! ’ We have it now 
for sure. Of seven hundred and nineteen Depu- 
ties, six hundred and ninety-three have voted 
‘Yea’ on the resolution that Capet is a traitor to 
Liberty and to the Nation ! ’ What do you say to 
that, wife ? ” 

Lazuli had run to the landing at the head of the 
stairs when she heard their voices. When Plan- 
chot was beside her he fell on her neck in a state 
of the wildest excitement. “ We have it this time 
for sure!” he cried. “Justice is done! Out of 

297 


298 


0:l)e terror. 


seven hundred and nineteen, six hundred and 
ninety-three have said, ‘Yes, he is a traitor to 
the Nation ! ’ ; and four hundred and thirty-three 
have voted for death — for death at once! ” 

Planchot came on into the room, and the mo- 
ment that he had kissed Adeline and Clairet cried 
out again: “Death! death! this time all is right, 
and it is death ! ” 

“ Come, come,” said his wife. “ You’ve talked 
enough about all that now. Tell them what you 
have arranged with the carrier.” 

But Planchot was not to be checked. “To- 
morrow,” he went on, “to-morrow, on the old 
Place Louis XV — that now is the Place de la 
Revolution — between the Pedestal and the Champs 
Elysees, Louis Capet will make a deep bow to the 
Nation! ” 

“Oh bother! We know all that! Haven’t 
you been dinging it into our ears for a fortnight ? 
Now you must talk of something else,” exclaimed 
his wife, utterly out of patience. 

“To-morrow William and I must be at the 
Temple. We are to be a part of his escort.” 

“ Oh yes, I suppose you’ve got to go. But, if 
you do go, I’d like to know who is to take care of 
these dear people ? Who is to take them to the 
White Pigeon Inn ? You know perfectly well that 
all is settled now for them to start to-morrow 
while the whole city is in a whirl. Tell us about 
that.” 

“ Your wife is in the right,” said William the 
Patriot. “You know that Jean Caritous has said, 

‘ I shall wait at the White Pigeon for you, and as 
soon as you come we’ll start ’ — for to-morrow 
those scoundrels will be off trying to deliver their 
King.” 

“ When did I deny it ?” said Planchot. 


®oob 5^ctDS of an ®lb i^rienb. 


299 


“You haven’t denied it — but you haven’t yet 
told us how we are to get them to the White 
Pigeon, nor at what time they are to start.” 

These calm words brought Planchot down from 
his political high horse. “You must get up very 
early to-morrow, children,” he said. “To-mor- 
row you are to start. We must get away before 
daylight. 1 and the Patriot will take you to the 
White Pigeon.” 

“ And I,” put in Planchot’s wife. “ Can’t 1 go 
along to ‘say good-bye ? ” 

“You.^ You’d be nicely in the way, now 
wouldn’t you.? No, you’ll bide at home.” 

“ Oh Lazuli! ” cried Adeline, throwing herself 
into Lazuli’s arms. “To-morrow we are to start! 
To-morrow we are to start! ” 

“ It’s too good! 1 can’t believe it’s true! ” said 
Lazuli as she hugged Adeline close. “I’m going 
back to my Vauclair — to my dear, dear, good man, 
who has suffered so! ” 

But Planchot’s wife fell to crying like a baby 
and kept on saying: “ 1 did want so much to go 
with you to the White Pigeon to say good-bye ! 
Why will not my old Planchot take me .? ” 

“There, there,” said William the Patriot, “if 
Planchot won’t take you, 1 will. I’ll take charge 
of the whole business.” 

“ Myou take charge, everything will go right,” 
answered Planchot. “Settle things just as you 
please. Whatever you do will be done well. I’m 
off now to put a fine edge on my axe! ” Planchot 
quite forgot that he had been grinding away at his 
axe for at least three weeks ! Away he ran down 
stairs — leaving the little party in a state of tumultu- 
ous excitement, not knowing where to begin or 
what to do to get ready to start so soon ! 

A moment later they heard him shouting up 


300 


^\)c terror. 


from the middle of the street: “ Wife, wife, come 
here! ” 

“ What a head of a shrimp he has! ” said his 
wife. “Don’t he know that the key’s in the 
door ” She began to open the window to speak 
to him, but shut it again hurriedly as she saw that 
a woman was standing beside him there in the 
dusk. 

“ Heavens! ” she cried. “ There’s a woman at 
our door! God grant it’s not La Jacarasse! ” 

“I’ll go with you,” said William the Patriot. 
“The three of us can get the better of even that 
she dragon.” 

Adeline and Lazuli were thrown into boiling 
oil by this fright that came upon them in the midst 
of their joy. They crept close to the window and 
held their breath and listened. But all was tran- 
quil — there was no dispute, no quarrelling — per- 
haps it was not La Jacarasse at all. The Planchots 
had opened the door and gone into the house with 
William and the woman. “Heaven grant it is 
not to put us off from leaving to-morrow,” said 
Lazuli, and they continued anxiously to peep 
through the panes. At last, after what seemed a 
very long time to them, they saw William the 
Patriot and Planchot’s wife coming across the 
street, and a moment later heard them ascending 
the stairs. Through the open door they heard 
Planchot’s wife saying: “Poor woman! Poor 
woman! She is lost, there is no hope for her! ” 

At these ominous words Lazuli and Adeline 
clung still closer to each other, feeling sure that 
some terrible misfortune had befallen them. And 
Adeline sobbed softly: “Oh Father in Heaven, 
when will you have mercy on us 

But Planchot’s wife was all smiles as she 
entered the room, and she bobbed her head gaily 


®0o5 of an 01 b iTrienb. 


301 


as she said: “Who would have thought it — and 
at such a time of day! ” 

“ What has happened ? Who was it ?” Lazuli 
asked eagerly. 

“ You’ll never guess who it was.” 

“Not La Jacarasse ? ” 

“ Oh Heavens, no! ” 

“ Some one we know ?” 

“Yes, indeed! You’d have been delighted to 

Well, who was it?” 

“It was Joy! Dear old Joy! But it breaks 
one’s heart to see her. Even now her poor old 
face is all blue and yellow and purple, and there’s 
a dreadful cut over her eye! ” 

“ Kind old Joy! Oh how glad I am that she’s 
alive! ” cried Adeline. 

“Joy.?” Clairet asked, jumping up in such a 
hurry that he sent flying the scraps of boards with 
which he built and unbuilt churches and houses 
and barns. 

“Yes, Joy, my pretty boy. Do you remem- 
ber her ? ” 

“Joy who gave me fig-jam .?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where?” 

“Oh she’s gone home.” 

“ I don’t mean Joy. I mean the fig-jam.” 

“ What a pity she didn’t bring some with her! 
Never mind, she’ll bring some next time.” But 
Clairet was not greatly consoled by this hopeful 
promise. Hanging his head and putting his finger 
in his mouth, he hopped on one foot back to his 
corner, feeling as flat as a quoit. “Never mind 
that glutton,” said his mother, “but tell us what 
Joy said.” 

Planchof s wife at once took a hand in folding 
20 


302 


®l)e terror. 


and arranging the clothes that were to be packed 
for the journey, and as she folded she talked. 

“Oh it’s dreadful,” she said, “all that’s hap- 
pened to Joy since you came away ! Her Monsieur 
Calisto nearly killed her, thinking it was she who 
opened the little door for you. He left her half 
dead in her room, lying on the floor. He never 
even took her as much as a drop of water. He 
just let her lie there between life and death. She 
was so stunned that she couldn’t get up on her 
bed. She could hear Calisto and the men who 
had come with Surto and La jacarasse making a 
poise and getting drunk over good wine from 
Monsieur le Comte’s cellars. She thinks she re- 
members that La Jacarasse came up to her room 
^nd frightened her so that she went off into a dead 
swound. It was a good while before she came to 
again; and when she did all was still in the house 
— she didn’t hear a sound anywhere. Somehow 
or other she pulled herself up, and managed by 
grabbing at the bed and whatever she could get 
hold of to drag herself out on the landing. Then 
she got hold of the balusters and crawled down 
stairs and found everything in a topsyturvy mess. 

“But she hadn’t any strength to set things 
straight, and after she’d got the water she was 
after, she went crawling up stairs to bed again. 
And then she caught sight of a bundle down close 
to the street door. She crawled along till she got 
to it — and what do you think it was ? It was 
your old dress, Adeline; your old dress that you 
dropped when you were running away. She car- 
ried it up stairs with her and hid it under her mat- 
tress, saying to herself that as soon as she could 
get out she’d bring it back to you. But, poor old 
body, she was eight days in bed, really between 
Jife .^iiid 4eath, and that nasty Calisto never went 


(^oob News of on ODlb £rienb. 


303 


near her! To be sure, he was out most of the 
time; and when he was at home he was swearing 
and vowing that you must be found, dead or alive. 
He hired a lot of villains as bad as himself to hunt 
for you and bring you back to his house. He 
posted them all about the neighbourhood, and in 
all the carriers’ inns, and at the bridges and ferries. 
Every time she heard the door open she was afraid 
it might be you getting brought back again. 

“ As spon as she possibly could manage just to 
stand, the poor old soul was bent on bringing you 
your frock. She says that all the time she was ly- 
ing there she kept saying to herself: ‘1 must take 
this frock to the Planchots and tell them that Calis- 
to and Surto and La jacarasse are prowling in 
search of Adeline and Lazuli.’ And so, one even- 
ing when Calisto had gone out with a troop of 
his wretches, she thought the chance had come for 
her to get to us and tell us what she knew. So 
she went up to her room and got the frock out 
from under the mattress and wrapped it in her 
apron and then away she went — and she thought 
she was mighty sharp because she went out by 
the garden gate. But she hadn’t much more than 
got her nose outside of it when somebody came 
bouncing up to her there in the dark alley and just 
gripped her fast with their two claws. And some- 
body sung out in a voice like a handsaw’s: ‘ Where 
are you going, you jade ? ’ 

“Joy says she first gasped and gurgled, and 
couldn’t say a word — for she was sure it was La 
jacarasse, and so it was 1 ‘ I’ve got you this time 1 ’ 

says La Jacarasse. ‘ Now you tell me where Ade- 
line is or I’ll choke the tongue out of you!’ For 
you see, Lazuli, La Jacarasse thought it was you 
she’d^got a hold of — and it was a big come down for 
her when she found she’d only got old Joy. Well, 


304 


QLl)c ST error. 


when she found who it was, she let go of her; but 
she began to ask her all sorts of questions and 
wanted to know where she was taking the frock 
to. And it was a good thing for you two, just 
then, that Joy couldn’t tell her more than she knew 
herself ! But she took the frock from her and stuck 
it into her basket, and then she gave joy a push 
that sent her with a stagger back into the garden 
and off she went, cursing and muttering out, ‘ If 
you don’t know, Calisto does.’ 

“joy says that since then she hasn’t dared to 
come here until to-night. To-night, it seems, 
there is a grand meeting of servants of the Aristo- 
crats — murderers and villains, all of ’em — in Ca- 
listo’s house. They’re plotting to deliver the Ty- 
rant, and are going to post themselves to-morrow 
along the road that Capet must follow as he goes 
to his beheading on the Place de la Revolution. 
That gave joy her chance, for this time she was 
sure La jacarasse wouldn’t be at the garden gate. 
So she came as quickly as she could and she went 
quick back again, and she just stopped long enough 
to tell what she had to tell, and why she didn’t 
bring back the frock. It worried her a good deal 
that she couldn’t bring back the frock- — but she said 
she thought you’d both understand.” 

“To think of dear joy worrying herself about 
my old frock! ” said Adeline. 

“ And isn’t that just like the dear old thing! ” 
Lazuli added. 

“But joy said,” Planchot’s wife went on, 
“that if she couldn’t bring the frock she’d brought 
something else — and out she pulled from her apron 
the loveliest shawls that she’d knitted for you, and 
a pair of socks for Clairet too. She told me to say 
that she’d bought the wool with her own mbney, 
and that she’d knitted these things with her own 


000b Netos of an 01 b Jmnb. 


305 


hands. And she said I was to give them to you if 
you were in Paris, and if you’d gone back to Avi- 
gnon I was to send them down by the first 
chance.” And Planchofs wife brought out Joy’s 
present from under her apron, where she had kept 
it until she could produce it with proper dramatic 
effect. The tears came to the eyes of Adeline and 
Lazuli as they covered their shoulders with joy’s 
shawls. 

“ But why didn’t you bring her in here, so that 
we might have kissed her once more?” Lazuli 
asked. 

“No, that wouldn’t have done,” Planchofs 
wife answered. “Joy never would tell on pur- 
pose where you were. But she’s an old body, and 
her wits aren’t over strong, and she might let it 
slip out.” 

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” said Lazuli, 
“but it would have been good to set eyes on dear 
old Joy again.” 

“She’s a good old woman,” said Planchofs 
wife, “and she’s done all she could do. How she 
does love you! When we told her she wouldn’t 
see you any more she got to crying as if her heart 
would break. It hurt us to see her that way — and 
you just across the way! But she pulled herselt 
up and said, ‘ Oh how happy I am that they’re 
safe. I’m easy now that they’re safe from the 
claws of La Jacarasse ’ — and she said that right out 
from her heart. And now you know all about it 
— and as I’ve about finished with these things I’d 
better go, and let you get to bed. Planchot says 
you’ve got to start to-morrow morning before it’s 
day.” 

“ But we will see you in the morning ? ” 

“ Indeed you will. It’s all settled now that I’m 
to go to the White Pigeon to see you off.” 


3o6 


^\]c (terror. 


“ I’m so very glad that you are going with us,” 
said Adeline, as she kissed Planchot’s wife good- 
night. 

“And so am I,” said Lazuli, also kissing her. 
“It wouldn’t seem right at all if you weren’t there 
to say good-bye.” 

They went down to the street door with Plan- 
chot’s wife, and kissed her again and said good- 
night to her. And then they came upstairs and 
went to bed. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE SOUNDING OF THE TOCSIN. 

But going to bed and going to sleep they found 
to be two quite different things. Even had there 
been no disturbing thrills of joy at the thought of 
their home-going, the prospect of what they were 
to do in the very early morning was quite enough 
to keep them wakeful. It was overpowering to 
think that they, who had been close prisoners in a 
single room for months, were to go forth into the 
streets of tempest-beaten Paris on the very day that 
the Revolution was to culminate in the beheading 
of the king! 

Yet had they slept it would not have been for 
long. When midnight struck on the bells of Paris 
there came through the cold night air softly a dull 
rattling that sounded like the roll of distant drums. 

“ Can that really be drumming ? ” said Adeline, 
sitting up in the bed and listening intently. 

Of course it can’t,” Lazuli answered. “ How 
can there be drumming at this time of night ? ” 

But in a little while there was a nearer and 
a clearer rattle; and then still nearer and louder; 
and then all around them, and away into all the 
farther corners of Paris, the drums were rattling 
out the Generale — and at the same moment the 
alarm-bells clanged in all the Paris towers. 

Doors and windows came flying open, and 
presently the empty streets were full of people 

307 


3o8 


®l)e (S:err0t. 


and all the city was a-buzz. Then came the 
tramp of horses, and the thunderous roll of gun- 
carriages that shook the houses and set the win- 
dows to rattling. The drums rolled incessantly. 
Through the darkness came the turmoil of hurry- 
ing crowds shouting the “ ^a ira.” The bells 
rang the alarm louder and faster. Paris was wide 
awake, and out of doors, and yelling. And then 
from the Pont Neuf came the dull roar of a great 
gun. 

Following close upon the report of the alarm 
gun, sounding clear above the rattling of the drums 
and the pealing of the tocsin, rose a strange long- 
drawn-out cry — as though in that instant the 
whole city spoke fiercely the same fierce words. 
And then the horses galloped faster, the crowds 
rushed on more rapidly, the songs became howls, 
the drums seemed going mad. The very ele- 
ments seemed to be dissolving. The earth seemed 
to quake, the unchained winds to sweep all before 
them — the very gates of Hell seemed to be set 
wide open and all the fiends let loose upon the 
world. 

Where were all the horsemen going with their 
drawn swords.^ Where were going all these 
wild-eyed men and women with hair flying loose 
and hands full of guns and pikes ? What was 
driving all these furious crowds, waving knives 
and with pikes eagerly slanted forward, tramping, 
tramping toward the same spot ? What did it all 
mean ? Was Crime going by, upborne by Folly 
and Madness.^ No — it was the Justice of God 
making the Earth to quake! 

Dark night still was upon them when Adeline 
and Lazuli got up. Over in Planchofs kitchen 
they saw a light, and below them they heard the 


®l)e Sounbing of tl)e (Jocein. 


309 


footsteps of William the Patriot Evidently it was 
time to make ready for starting, but Clairet — who 
had not had his sleep out, and who was a very 
dormouse — still slumbered hard and fast. This 
was vexatious. If he could not be roused and 
made to use his own legs he would have to be 
carried — and there was enough of him to make a 
heavy load. 

“ Wake up, Clairet,” cried his mother. “ Wake 
up — we are going to Avignon to Papa Vauclair! ” 
But even this appeal, backed by a good shaking, 
did not get Clairet awake. 

“Whatever shall we do ” cried Lazuli. “If 
we have to carry him we won’t get to the White 
Pigeon at all! ” 

“Let me try,” said Adeline. “I’ll manage 
it,” and she stood him up on his bed and cried 
briskly: “Clairet, Clairet, wake quick! See, 
here’s the jar of fig-jam — and here’s the big cat! 
Wake quick or she’ll eat it all up! ” 

At that moment William the Patriot and Plan- 
chot entered the . room. They grasped the situa- 
tion promptly and at once took parts in the comedy 
that was being played to get Clairet awake. 

‘^S’cat!” cried William the Patriot. 

“ S’cat! ” cried Planchot. 

At all this noise the child opened his eyes 
and gazed about him drowsily — while Planchot, 
entering finely into the spirit of his part, went on: 
“Oh the bad cat! There she goes down stairs 
with the jam-pot ! Hurry and dress Clairet as quick 
as you can so that he can run after that jam-thief! ” 
and he made a spirited pretence of running after 
her himself. 

This dramatic outburst got Clairet awake. In 
a few minutes he was dressed, and then Planchot 
and William the Patriot picked up the larger bun- 


310 


terror. 


dies and the little party went down the stairs. 
As they came out into the alley Planchot’s wife 
joined them, and then they fairly were off. 

The weather was clear but very cold. Up at 
the head of the alley a great crowd was sweeping 
along the Rue Saint-Antoine in the direction of 
the Temple: men on foot and on horseback, 
women, even children. They flourished swords 
and pikes. Many of them carried pitch torches. 
As they surged forward they shouted the “ ^a ira.” 
The plentiful drums rattled out the pas de charge 
— the quickstep that carried them all along. Into 
this crowd the little party was caught and was swept 
along by it like sticks and dead leaves on a mountain 
torrent. Sometimes they were in darkness, some- 
times in the glare of the torches. And the torches 
flashed like red lightning over the thousands of 
open-mouthed wild-eyed creatures who raged on- 
ward as they howled and roared: “fa ira! fa 
ira! ” 

For a time they were powerless to extricate 
themselves from this tumult. But when the crowd 
reached the great street of the Temple it divided, 
a part keeping on toward the Place de la Revolu- 
tion and the remainder toward the Tower. This 
was their opportunity. They slanted off to the 
left, and presently got into the quiet of the Place 
de Greve and were free to continue on their 
way. 

“Where is the big cat with my jam-pot.^” 
Clairet asked, as soon as he could get his breath. 
But there was no time to listen to the little glutton. 
Day was breaking and they had to hurry on to the 
White Pigeon. Already they were late. 

They crossed the river, and then the worst was 
over. As they passed onward they found the 
streets almost deserted and they were safe to go 


®I)c SouuMng of tlje tocsin. 


3TI 


where they pleased. But behind them they still 
could hear the buzz of the drums and the clamour 
of the crowd and the grim lilt of the “ ^a ira ” rising 
over all. And as they paused for a moment before 
they turned away from the river they could see the 
crowd still pouring into the Place de la Revolution 
— the people swarmed together there like bees, a 
mass of close-pressed faces, of plumes, of red 
liberty caps, of gleaming pikes and bayonets, and 
high above all the two tall bare arms upholding 
the national knife! The windows of the houses, 
the roofs, the trees, were thronged. Every scrap 
of space was crowded from which could be seen 
the fall of the Tyrant’s head. 


They turned from the river and kept on their 
way unmolested to the White Pigeon — and that 
was deserted too. The lantern before the door 
burned dimly in the morning light, forgotten and 
unextinguished. There was no host, no hostess, 
not even a servant. Before dawn every one of them 
had gone off to the Place de la Revolution to be 
present at the death of the King. 

They passed into the stable yard and found it 
as silent as the grave. Planchot was leading. 
“Te!” he exclaimed, “at any rate, here’s the 
cart.” 

“That’s not enough,” said his wife. “Let us 
hope that the carter’s here too — that he hasn’t 
gone off with the world and his wife to see the 
show! ” 

As they spoke together there was a sound of 
some one stirring inside the covered cart. It was 
Jean Caritous, who had grown tired of waiting and 
had stretched himself out for a little nap. “ Is that 
you, Planchot.^” he called. 

“Yes, I’m afraid we’re a little behind time.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” the carrier answered, as 


312 


bettor. 


he jumped briskly out of the cart. “We’ll soon 
make up a lost half hour.” 

He was a handsome young fellow of five and 
twenty or thereabouts, fresh looking and ruddy. 
His beret was stuck on one side of his head jauntily, 
and tossed across his shoulders was his red striped 
cloak of limousine. He was a trifle round shoul- 
dered, but as strong as a bull — a man to pick up a 
tree trunk as though it were a straw. When his 
cart stuck in a rut he got under it, and with a 
heave of those round shoulders of his set it 
free! 

Lazuli knew him the moment she laid eyes on 
him, and wondered why it was that she had not 
from the beginning identified him with his name. 
Time and again she had seen him dancing faran- 
doles on the Place du Palais at Avignon ; and on 
many a Sunday afternoon she had met him under 
the willows on the Coupe d’or road, or wandering 
in flowery lanes sweet with blooming may-blos- 
som, while he courted pretty Genevieve — the 
daughter of a carrier like himself. It was delight- 
ful to meet this man whom she had known in her 
own Avignon. But most of all her heart swelled 
at the thought that only a few weeks had passed 
since he actually had been talking with her own 
Vauclair. Her voice trembled a little, with pleas- 
ure and with sadness, as she exclaimed: “Why, 
Jean, is it you ?” 

“Yes indeed it is. Lazuli,” said the young fel- 
low, as he flung his limousine on the cart and 
shook hands with her. “And so I am to take you 
home ?” 

“If you please, dear Jean.” 

“ If I please ! It will give me the greatest pleas- 
ure possible — and I can tell you it’s going to give 
even more pleasure to your Vauclair!” 


®l)e Somtbing of tl)e tocsin. 


313 


“ Poor man, how he must be longing to see his 
little Clairet! ” 

“He is that, and you too! If 1 hadn’t been 
coming up here to bring the Saint Augustine bells 
he had made up his mind to foot it all the way to 
come after you. Does Mademoiselle come with us 
too ? ” 

“Yes, she’s a little cousin of ours,” and as La- 
zuli told this fib she blushed a little and so did 
Adeline. . 

“You’ll take good care of them, won’t you?” 
said Planchofs wife. 

“That 1 will,” Jean Caritous answered heartily. 
“They'll be as well off in my cart as in their own 
home, just look in here and see what a nice little 
cabin I’ve made for them,” and jean helped Plan- 
chot’s wife up on the shaft. 

“It is nice, and that’s a fact,*’ said Planchofs 
wife. “ But I’m afraid they’ll be dreadfully cold.” 

“ Cold ? Not a bit of it. just feel that canvas. 
You couldn’t get a knife through it — no, nor a bul- 
let! The wind hasn’t any chance at all. And be- 
side that good cover over them they’ve got warm 
wool all around them and to sit on. That’s my 
load, woolen cloth. I’m taking it to the Avignon 
dealers.” 

“ Don’t you worry about us a bit,” said Lazuli 
beamingly, full of happiness that she was going 
home, “jean is right. We’ll be as warm as birds 
in a nest.” 

“Heaven grant it! ” exclaimed Planchofs wife 
fervently. 

“Oh how comfortable we shall be!” laughed 
Adeline, clapping her hands. “I never was in a 
cart in my life. Oh but ifs going to be fun! ” 

“ Well,” said Planchot, “I want to see you get 
into your cart and start off. It isn’t that I want to 


314 


terror. 


send you away, you know,” he went on, “but 
because the sooner you’re out of Paris the safer 
you’ll be. What a place this inn is! There’s not 
a soul in it to do a thing. How’s Caritous going 
to hitch up, I’d like to know ?” 

“ I’ve opened all the doors and called out every- 
where,” said William the Patriot, “and 1 haven’t 
found a single thing alive.” 

“Don't heat up your blood,” said Jean. “I 
don’t need anybody’s help in putting to my horses. 
And it’s a good thing 1 don’t, for at the first tap of 
the drum this morning everybody cleared out.” 

“It’s all very well for you to tell us not to heat 
up our blood, but you see, we too — 1 and William 
the Patriot — are not where we ought to be. We 
have our duty to do to-day — we belong to the Na- 
tional Guard.” 

‘‘Well, if you’re in a hurry, go right along. 1 
don’t need any help to get out of here. 1 wouldn’t 
be much of a carrier if 1 couldn’t gear up my own 
horses to my own cart.” 

“You mustn’t stay for us,” said Lazuli. “You 
know how bitter hard it is to have you go after all 
you’ve done for us. But if you have to go to your 
duty— you have to, and that settles it.” 

“Oh, oh, oh!” sobbed old Planchot, suddenly 
breaking down completely. “Do you think / 
don’t feel anything at seeing you going off like 
this.?” And Planchot openly boohooed! 

“And 1,” cried Planchot’s wife, flinging her 
arms above her head and sobbing bitterly. “ What 
am 1 to do when you’re gone ? 1 who love you as 
though you were my very own ! ” 

And then Adeline and Lazuli took to sobbing 
also, and they all got into a bunch together — with 
each of them trying to embrace all the others — 
and made a very fountain of tears. 


®l)e Sotinbing of tlie tocsin. 


315 


Meanwhile, Jean had slipped the great horned 
collars over his horses’ heads and had settled the 
harness on their backs ; and while the tearful em- 
bracing continued he backed the shaft-horse into 
place and hitched on the leader and the follower 
by their chains. Fresh from their long rest in the 
stable, the three horses whinnied loudly and set 
their bells to jingling as they stamped and tossed 
their heads in their impatience to be off. 

“ Corne, up with you into the cart! ” said Jean. 
“ We’ll have another hugging match next year.” 

“See that they want for nothing,” said Plan- 
chot’s wife. “And here, put into your box this 
bottle of vin ciiit." 

Planchot drew the carrier aside and slipped 
some silver into his hand. “To be used if any- 
thing goes wrong on the road,” he whispered. 
“ And if it is not needed on the road,” he added, 
“give it to my little girl when you arrive.” And 
Planchot choked and could say no more. 

In spite of Jean’s impatient calls of “On 
board, on board now!” Lazuli could not tear her- 
self away from Planchot’s wife’s arms. Before one 
embrace fairly was finished another was begun — 
until at last, in sheer despair of separating them, 
Jean cried to Planchot’s wife; “Get into the cart 
along with them and do your hugging there. If 
we are to start at all to-day we must start now. 
As for you, Planchot, get away with William the 
Patriot to the Place de la Revolution. God knows 
what’s happening and you may be needed with 
the Guard.” 

Before Jean had finished speaking Planchofs 
wife had hopped into the cart. Adeline and Lazuli 
followed her, and Clairet was handed in. “Oh, 
how nice it is! ” they cried together, between tears 
and smiles. And in truth so it was. And then 


3i6 


2ri)e QLcxxox, 


jean cracked his whip thrice, each time like a pis- 
tol shot; the three horses, striking fire with their 
hoofs from the cobblestones, gave a strong tug all 
together; the broad wheels began to turn slowly, 
bumping over the rough pavement — and in anoth- 
er moment they had passed out under the archway 
of the White Pigeon and the journey was begun! 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE FESTIVAL OF THE GUILLOTINE. 

Jean Caritous walked close by the bridle-rein 
of the shaft-horse, looking around from time to 
time to see that his load kept its balance and that 
the harness held firm. Behind the cart walked 
Planchot and William the Patriot — whose way at 
first was the same as that of the travellers. Jean 
was heading for the Pont Neuf, where the river 
would be crossed and he would bear away to the 
right to the Lyons road — that long, long road, 
endlessly stretching southward across France 
through Lyons to Marseilles. 

Jean laughed as he peered in under the tilt at 
his passengers. “ It looks like a nest of mice,” he 
said. The women were bunched close together, 
while Clairet went searching about on his hands 
and knees over the bales of cloth. 

“Clairet, Clairet, keep quiet!” his mother 
cried. “ You’ll tumble out and get under the 
wheels.” 

“I have him tight,” said Adeline, as she 
caught him by his little breeches and held him 
fast. 

Through the deserted streets they went for a 
while at a good gait; but as they advanced they 
began to get into the crowd that was hurrying 
onward to the river bank — whence could be had a 
clear view of the Place de la Revolution on the 

317 


21 


terror. 


318 


other side — and when they fairly came out upon 
the street running along the river front the crowd 
was so thick that their progress was very slow. 
Not only was the street full of people, but all the 
windows and all the housetops were packed, and 
so were the branches of the trees. Everywhere 
was this eagerly staring crowd. The cart went 
slower and slower through the press. At last, 
being corne directly opposite to the stark upstand- 
ing guillotine, it stopped short. It could go no 
farther. The crowd was as solid as a stone wall. 

The women under the tilt suddenly realized 
that they no longer were in motion. “ Heavens! ” 
exclaimed Lazuli, “what’s the matter.^” and 
the others echoed her startled cry. They had 
heard the shouts and the songs of the crowd 
around them, the rolling rumble of its voice, but 
as they could see nothing they had fancied that 
these sounds came from afar off and had paid no 
attention to them. 

Lazuli, who possessed at all times a lively curi- 
osity, crawled over the bales and popped her head 
out from under the tilt. The sight of the vast 
throng, howling and gesticulating, upset her com- 
pletely. “Oh Saints of the Lord! what a 
crowd ! ” she cried — and stood erect outside of the 
tilt and gazed at it. At her words, Planchot’s 
wife and Adeline scrambled over the bales and 
joined her. Standing in that way on the high cart 
they could see over the heads of the multitude — 
and what a sight met their eyes! 

Afar off, on the opposite side of the river, 
directly in front of them, they could distinguish 
clearly the grim dumb guillotine, its shining knife 
caught on high between its arms — and all around 
it, covering every inch of the Place de la Revolu- 
tion and stretching up to the housetops and away 


ifcBtbal of tl)e (Guillotine. 


319 


into all the streets that they could see, was. a fierce 
and wildly tumultuous crowd. All Paris was 
crushed tight around that centre — come to see the 
last of its ex-king ! 

In another moment the crowd immediately 
around them had taken possession of the cart- 
swarming up on its wheels and shafts, and even 
on the backs of the horses — delighted with this 
opportunity to get a better view. Nothing of the 
cart or the horses was visible. It had become a 
bee-like cluster of men and women and children: 
all less like human beings than ravening wolves — 
all glaring with a wild ferocity at that distant 
knife which presently would carve the fate of 
France! 

Broad daylight was coming fast. Little rosy 
clouds, forerunners of the rising sun, bloomed in 
the sky. Bright rays showed over the Tyrant’s 
castle. Great flocks of pigeons flew over the crowd 
uncertainly, knowing not where to perch: for 
their accustomed resting places — the open square, 
the streets, the bridges, trees, housetops, bal- 
conies, windows — all were covered by the human 
throng. 

Suddenly, toward the Rue Saint Honore, there 
was a tremendous eddying in the multitude — as a 
body of mounted gendarmes with drawn swords 
advanced slowly to the alarum of a thousand 
drums. Grim and terror-striking was this squad- 
ron of the Gensdarmes of the Revolution. In its 
midst was a miserable old carriage, miserably 
horsed, driven by a postilion wearing a liberty- 
cap with a red cockade. Beside the tight-shut 
door, sword in hand, rode the notorious Santerre, 
the (jeneral of the National Guard. 

The crowd, pressing close upon the gendarmes, 
caught glimpses through the glass door of the car- 


320 


Ferrer. 


riage of a face — the face of the Tyrant, Louis 
Capet. Pale as plaster he sat there, his eyes fixed 
on his Book of Hours, muttering to himself the 
Prayers for the Dead. 

Through the shrieking crowd, amidst shaking 
fists, the death-carriage moved slowly onward to 
the foot of the scaffold. 

As they stood on the cart, gazing with a 
strange wonder, the three women plainly could 
see the Tyrant alight from his v^retched chariot, 
ascend the steps of the scaffold, and there stand 
upright beside the knife. The executioner stepped 
forward and laid his hand on the shoulder of the 
Tyrant — who retreated a step. It was his wish to 
retain his coat, and that his hands should not be 
tied. A priest held up before him a crucifix and 
exhorted him to submit to the will of God. And 
then the Tyrant gave himself up to the execu- 
tioner: who took off his brown coat and his lace 
cravat, and fastened his hands behind him with a 
leather strap. The howls and execrations ceased. 
A thrilling silence rested on the crowd. 

Louis Capet moved forward to the edge of the 
scaffold, all fringed with threatening fists. Look- 
ing over them, as though they had no existence, 
the Tyrant spoke: 

“.I die an innocent man ” 

At this instant, obedient to his master, San- 
terre’s horse reared and plunged, and Santerre 
flourished his sword before the Tyrant’s mouth as 
though to close it — and then a tremendous rattle 
of drums burst forth and drowned his thin voice. 
At a sign from the two representatives of the Con- 
vention there present, the executioner seized the 
prisoner by the shoulders, dragged him to the 
plank, and having flung him upon it face down- 
ward pushed the plank between the two arms of 


®l)c i'cstitjal of tl)e ©uillotine. 


321 


the guillotine directly beneath the knife. The 
head of him who was King of France lay on the 
block. 

The loud rattle of the drums stopped short. 
All eyes turned to the victim where he was held 
in place by two crouching men. There was an 
instant of breathless silence — and then a flash as of 
lightning as the bright knife, swift as a hawk 
pouncing on its prey, flew down the grooves. A 
dull jar made the upright arms quiver. The head, 
at once pallid and ruddy, toppled over into the 
basket. From the divided neck, that looked like a 
dark hole, gushed forth a stream of blood spouting 
over the basket, over the base of the guillotine, 
and over the legs and naked arms of the execu- 
tioner. 

The executioner grasped by the hair the head 
with its eyelids still a-flutter. He held it up so 
that it was visible to all the dumb and motion- 
less crowd. In succession he turned the face 
to the four corners of the scaffold, and as he 
did so he gave four resounding slaps to the dead 
face. 

Then from the whole multitude burst forth an 
awful cry of “Vive la Nation ! ” The drums broke 
into a sharp rattle, and with a hoarse roar the 
crowd flung itself on the scaffold. Men helped 
the women up, children climbed the beams and 
posts, the people flung themselves on the bloody 
basket, on the gory planks — all fiercely eager to 
dip their hands in the Tyrant’s blood. They 
smeared their clothes, their handkerchiefs, with 
blood. Mothers spattered blood on the faces of 
their sons and daughters. One woman bloodied 
her breasts and gave suck to her innocent babe, 
who as he sucked drew into his little mouth the 
Tyrant’s impure blood. 


322 


terror. 


The crowd — crazy, drunk with passion — burst 
forth into yelling 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son ! Vive le son ! 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son du canon ! 

And roaring out their song they danced madly 
around the guillotine. 

Adeline had seen it all. As the Tyrant’s head 
fell from his shoulders and the blood spurted forth 
from the open neck she drooped as one upon 
whom death has fallen. At that moment she did 
feel the touch of death on her own heart. 

Lazuli and Planchot’s wife caught her as she 
was falling and lifted her into the cart and laid her 
down on the bales of cloth — she saw nothing of 
the wild outburst that followed the Tyrant’s death. 
There they talked to her, as she revived a little, 
gently and soothingly — about Avignon, and the 
long journey thither, and about the glad meeting 
with Vauclair. And while they talked the crowd 
around the cart began to thin a little, and presently 
Jean cracked his whip three times and again they 
were off. The people were coming down from 
the roofs and the trees and scattering again. But 
over around the guillotine the sans-culottes still 
kept up their dancing and still yelled out 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son ! Vive le son ! 

Dansons la Carmagnole ! 

Vive le son du canon ! 

The wild-eyed crazy creatures surged hither 
and thither, mad with their ferocious joy. Some 
bore blood marks on their foreheads, some had 
their jaws blood-smeared as though they had 
slaked their blood-thirst in the gory b^asket, others 


®l)c irestitJttl of tl)e 0 mUotine. 323 


again had their hands blood-reddened, or flour- 
ished aloft a blood-stained bayonet or pike. Some 
were singing “La Carmagnole,” some the “Ca 
ira,” some “ La Marseillaise.” The ballad-mong- 
ers had made ready for the occasion, and were 
hawking a doleful ditty that between their calls 
they droned out a verse at a time: 

Fine Mistress Guillotine 
And Master Jack Ketch 
Made the King on the scaffold 
Sing his matins — poor wretch I 

Even on the left bank of the river the crowd 
still was enormous, and the cart of Jean Caritous 
frayed its way with difficulty through the living 
mass until the Place de la Revolution was left well 
behind. As they advanced slowly Adeline grew 
a little calmer. Presently she sat up, facing in the 
direction in which they were going — and instantly 
gave a scream and clapped her hands before her 
eyes. She had caught sight of the two towers of 
Notre Dame, and to her excited fancy they had 
seemed to be the posts of a gigantic guillotine. 

They brought before her eyes a sight that would 
continue to come back to them all her life long. 
Never could she forget that awful severed neck, 
and the pallid ruddy head tumbling into the bas- 
ket. Everything seemed to be whirling around 
her. Faint and sick she fell back again upon the 
bales of cloth. 

The cart went on past the towers of Notre 
Dpme, across the bridge of La Tournelle, and up 
toward the Place du Faubourg de Gloire. The 
eyes of Planchot’s wife filled with tears, for the 
moment of parting had almost come. “1 must 
leave you now,” she said — “and I never am to 
see you again ! ’* 

“Oh do not leave us so soon,” said Adeline# 


324 


Ql\)c QLcxxox, 


the thought of this hard parting bringing her once 
more to herself. 

“ Surely you can come a little farther with us,” 
said Lazuli, choking down her sobs. 

“ Children, dear children,” said the old woman, 
“all things must come to an end — and for us the 
end has come. It isn’t only a little farther that I 
would go with you if I could ” 

“Yes, yes. Do go a little farther with us,” 
begged Adeline, and she seized the hands of Plan- 
chot’s wife and held them fast. 

“Come a little farther to please Adeline,” 
coaxed Lazuli. 

“ I would go with you to the end of the world, 
children, did I listen to my heart. But my duty is 
here.” 

With no crowd to delay it, the cart had been 
going at a good pace. They had crossed the Place 
du Faubourg de Gloire and were getting into the 
country. On each side of the road there was 
nothing to be seen but gardens. “Heavens!” 
cried Planchot’s wife, as she looked out and saw 
how far she was from home. “Stop! stop, Cari- 
tous! I must get right out and go back.” 

Jean Caritous drew the reins, the three horses 
stopped, and the shaft horse threw his weight on 
the breeching and brought the cart to a stand. 
Then came another outburst of kisses and em- 
braces and parting speeches — that might have gone 
on indefinitely had not jean cut it short. At his 
decided words Planchof s wife stepped forward to 
get down from the cart. But Adeline caught her 
about the neck and held her tight, and said with a 
deep sob: “You love me as though I were your 
own child, do you not ? ” 

“ As though you were of my very own blood,” 
the old woman answered through her tears. 


®I)e iTcstiral of tl)c (guillotine. 


325 


“Well then you must promise me ” and 

suddenly the young girl stopped short and blushed 
as red as a cherry in May. 

‘ ‘ Speak out, ” said Planchot’s wife. ‘ ‘ I promise 
to do whatever you wish.” 

“Don’t be afraid to speak,” put in Lazuli. “I 
won’t listen.” 

“Yes, you may listen,” said Adeline, but she 
drooped her head as she went on: “Promise me, 
please, to tell Pascalet when he comes back that 
his Adeline — will — will take care of his father, 
Pascal, and of his mother. La Patine.” 

“Yes I will, dear child. 1 will tell him that 
you will take good care of his people and that you 
love him well.” Adeline did not dare to look up 
nor to say another word, and Planchot’s wife and 
Lazuli nodded to each other and smiled. There 
was one more outburst of kisses and embraces, 
and then Planchot’s wife got down out of the 
cart. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


IN THE DAWNING. 

Flick-flack! Flick-flack! Flick-flack! went the 
whip of Jean Caritous. The bells jingled, the 
horses heaved on the traces, and the cart started 
forward on the glad road to Avignon. 

Planchot’s wife, after walking a few steps, 
stopped short and turned to gaze after the cart that 
was carrying away from her those whom she loved 
so deeply; those who had linked her again so 
closely to her beautiful land of Provence. Her 
heart thrilled with pleasure as she saw Adeline and 
Lazuli — gleaning out on each side of the tilt — blow- 
ing kisses to her. It was very short, this last gleam 
of happiness. In another moment the cart had 
swung around a turn in the road and they were 
separated. With her heart full of longing and re- 
gret Planchot’s wife stood still for an instant, then 
she flung her arms above her head and turned 
away toward Paris. The others drew back under 
the tilt and seated themselves in their nest among 
the bales of cloth. For a while they did not speak 
to each other. Their hearts were very full. 

But if the travellers were sad and thoughtful, 
not so was Jean Caritous. He was brimming over 
with fun because he was brimming over with hap- 
piness — for was he not to be married as soon as 
he got back to Avignon ? As he walked along 
beside his horses he whistled the “Carmagnole" 

326 


In tl)e manning. 


327 


— the faint strains of which now and then could be 
distinguished in the buzzing murmurs that came 
down on the wind from Paris, still in a tumult from 
that morning’s work. 

Hardly a half hour had passed when there was 
a pounding of hoofs on the road behind them, and 
then they saw — coming as though in chase of 
them — a horseman at full gallop. 

“ Heavens! ” exclaimed Adeline. “ Perhaps it 
is Calisto! *’ 

“Don’t say such things,” said Lazuli, whose 
heart sank at Adeline’s words. 

“ Here comes the postman,” called Jean, as he 
swung his team to the right to clear the road. 
“You may be sure he’s bearing the news of the 
Tyrant’s death down to Marseilles.” 

While he spoke, the horseman flashed past 
them like a thunderbolt, and jean continued: 
“How he goes! In three days he’ll be in Avi- 
gnon.” 

“ Ah, if only we could go as fast as he does! ” 
sighed Adeline. 

jean Caritous shook his head, as much as to 
say: “ It will be a long time before we get there! ” 
and he began to whistle again and to crack his 
whip. 

The sun had dissolved the morning mists, the 
bushes and thistles and grass along the roadside 
were covered with glittering beads of dew. The 
field birds were flying about looking for their break- 
fasts — some of them, as they pecked away on the 
road-bed, would scarcely move their impudent little 
bodies from under the horses’ feet. All was joy 
in the mild soft air. The bright sun-rays made the 
travellers brim over with a comfortable happiness. 
It was so long since they had seen a rosy sunrise, 
or trees, or fluttering little birds! For nearly three 


328 


®l)e terror. 


cold dismal months they had been shut up in their 
little room in William the Patriot’s house, living in 
perpetual terror, never venturing to put their noses 
out of doors. 

Now Paris, that city of misfortune for them, 
was fast dropping behind. Paris, abomination of 
desolation, through whose streets crime forever 
stalked ! From time to time the morning breeze 
brought them a far-off confused rumour pointed 
with blood-freezing yells. 

Close beside them a goldfinch, perched on a 
roadside thistle, was pecking his breakfast of seeds 
from the pod. His chirping song seemed to say 
over and over again: “ Christ Jesus! Christ Jesus! ” 
— and this name of peace drove from their minds 
all thought of the peaceless city they were leaving 
behind them. They looked with delight at the 
joyous little bird — who was not afraid, not he, of 
the cart or of the three big horses! How pretty 
was his little red head, and his yellow and black 
and white wings ! As he pecked away at the tasty 
seeds he turned his roguish head to one side and 
looked at the travellers out of his black beads of 
eyes. 

Very comforting was the sight of nature again ; 
very sweet the scent of plants and trees in the 
wholesome open air. And everything delighted 
the little party. 

“ Oh, see that aubepine, all over red berries. I 
want some,” said Clairet. 

“And look at those beautiful snowdrops,” said 
Adeline. But she did not venture to say that she 
wanted some of them. 

Jean Caritous, kind-hearted fellow that he was, 
stepped to the roadside and gathered a branch of 
aubepine and a little bunch of snowdrops and gave 
them to the delighted children. 


In tl)e HJaroning. 


329 


When Jean was tired of walking he seated him- 
self on the front of his cart and set himself to amus- 
ing the children by telling them about the inns at 
which they would stop — at one for their midday 
meal and at the other for their supper and beds. 
They would stop at many inns on their journey, 
he said, for Avignon was a long, long way off At 
the very least they would be twenty-five days on 
the road, and that would be only if everything 
went well. Snow, heavy rain, a sick horse, a 
breakdown — a dozen mishaps might occur that 
would delay them. 

“ But when do we get to the first inn — the one 
where we shall get our dinner to-day ” Adeline 
asked with a good deal of interest. For she, and 
the others too, wanted the chance to run about a 
little, and they also were beginning to feel very 
hungry. The very early start, the fresh morning 
air, the steady jolting of the cart — all this had sharp- 
ened their teeth amazingly. 

“Off there in that tuft of trees,” said Jean, 
pointing with his whip, “do you see a little tower 
all full of holes ? Well, that is the inn of Saint 
George, where we will make our first stop. There 
they have good bread to eat, and such pigeons 
cooked in their own juice! That little tower, that 
looks like a belfry, is really the pigeon house of the 
inn. It is full of pigeons — 1 can’t say how many 
pairs! ” 

‘ ‘ Poor little pigeons, ” said Adeline. ‘ ‘ 1 wouldn’t 
like to see them killed! ” 

Lazuli had said nothing for some moments. 
With a disturbed and anxious look she glanced to 
right and to left and seemed to be listening in- 
tently. 

“What is it. Lazuli ?” Adeline asked. 

“It is nothing, dear — only 1 seem to hear a dull 


330 


@:i)e terror. 


noise that sounds as though it might be a carriage 
coming after us.” 

“Not Calisto or Surto or La Jacarasse.^” cried 
Adeline trembling and turning pale. 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Jean Caritous. “What, 
even here with me, are you still afraid of those raga- 
muffins ? I’d have you to know that, with nothing 
better than a stick to fight with, I got rid of seven 
robbers in the Bois de la Dame. Let your old frog 
of a Monsieur Calisto come after you, and bring 
along Monsieur Surto and Madame La Jacarasse — 
ril rid you of the whole of ’em! But that noise 
isn’t a carriage. I’ve been listening to it, and it’s 
neither more nor less than the Saint George town 
drummer. He’s beating his drum in the Market 
Place in order to make a proclamation. Listen, 
that is certainly what it is.” 

“ Well, I believe you’re right,” said Lazuli, 
“ and 1 can tell you it’s a load off my mind ! ” 

As they went on the sound of the drumming 
became more distinct, and the drummer still was 
rattling away as they entered the village of Saint 
George. When they came to the little Grande 
Place they found a crowd collected; but, without 
stopping, jean drove on under the archway of the 
inn and so to the big wagon-house — where a dozen 
or more carters were unharnessing their horses or 
were carrying food to them in the stalls. The 
passengers were out of the cart in a moment. 
Clairet began to run after the pigeons, which were 
flying about in every direction, while Lazuli and 
Adeline went out on the Place to get at the mean- 
ing of the drumming that had so frightened them. 

All the village folk were clustered around the 
drummer, who was beating away in front of the 
Liberty Tree set up in the middle of the little 
Grande Place. As Lazuli and Adeline advanced. 


Sn tlie ?Uatx)ning. 


331 


shyly and timidly, a man with a big beard caught 
sight of them and came toward them. As he 
reached them he took off his red cap politely and 
said: “Our Mayor has gone to Paris, and yester- 
day we hanged our Cure. And so there is nobody 
here who can read us what is written on that 
paper. The courier left it, and then he went 
galloping on. Perhaps you know how to read, 
and will be good enough to read it to us 

As he spoke, the drum stopped its rattling and 
all the crowd of peasants turned toward Lazuli and 
Adeline. They were badly frightened, yet it was 
impossible to refuse what was asked of them. 
Adeline advanced to the foot of the Liberty Tree, 
on which the paper was fastened, and in a trem- 
bling but loud voice read out: 

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity — or Death! 

In the name of the French People 

We proclaim that Louis Capet, traitor to the 
Country, ex-King of France, was guillotined on 
the Place de la Revolution to-day, Monday, Janu- 
ary 21, by virtue of the decrees of the National 
Convention of the 15th, 17th, 19th and 20th of 
January, 1793. 

Vive la Republique! 

Vive la Nation! 

(Signed) The Provisional Executive Council. 

Blushing and covered with confusion, Adeline 
turned toward Lazuli and tried to get out of the 
pressing crowd. But the big-bearded man had his 
thanks to make. With his red cap stuck on his 
head, he snatched up Adeline in his big hairy arms 


332 


®l)e terror. 


as though she had been a feather weight and gave 
her a sounding smack on each cheek! 

Adeline’s face and neck went crimson, and she 
was quite breathless as Lazuli held her by the arm 
and led her out from the crowd — which had taken 
to dancing around the Liberty Tree and to shout- 
ing and yelling over this tremendous piece of news. 

Jean Caritous, standing at the inn door, had 
seen it all; and as they came to him they found 
him laughing at such a rate that he was holding 
his sides. And then the fun of the thing struck 
the two women also, and they joined him in his 
laugh. 

Dinner was ready, and there was no time to 
lose. They went in together and sat down to 
their meal. And such a dinner was it! And such 
an appetite had those for whom it was served ! 
Just as Jean had said, the bread was good and the 
pigeons au sang were delicious. And to see those 
hungry carters bolt great chunks of bread, and 
make but two mouthfuls of a big slice of mutton 
(not to mention such small things as pigeons), was 
enough to unlock a dead man’s jaws! 

The horses, too, were fed and watered, and it 
was not until after a good two hours’ rest that they 
were harnessed up and the cart with the little fam- 
ily started again on the long road to Avignon. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


THE LANGUAGE OF THE ROAD. 

In the afternoon they found the road less lonely 
than it had been in the morning. They met many 
carts on the way to Paris; and these carts rarely 
went singly, but in files of ten or twelve. Some 
were from Languedoc, with ladings of cognac or 
frontignac or malvoisie; others from Auvergne or 
the Bourbonnais, with ladings of cheese; and oth- 
ers from Provence, with ladings of saffron or silk 
or madder or little kegs of perfumes, or with bags 
of wheat from Marseilles. 

The moment that Caritous heard the jingle of 
distant bells, long before any cart was visible, he 
began to announce himself by cracking out with 
his whip the gay cadences of “ The March of La 
Tarasque ” : 

Lagadigadeu, 

La Tarasco! 

Lagadigadeu, 

La Tarasco 
Dou Casten 
•“Leissa la passa. 

La vieio masco, 

Leissa la passa 
Que vai dansa! * 


* Lagadigadeu, 

The Tarasque! 

Lagadigadeu, 

The Tarasque 
Of the Castle. 

Let her go by, 

The old witch, 

Let her go by, 

For she’s going to dance! 

333 


22 


334 


terror. 


Then the distant carter would answer by crack- 
ing the air peculiar to his part of the country. The 
Auvergne carters would reply with a bourree : 
Cla! Cla! Cla! — Cla! Cla! Cla! The carters from 
Aix, with their loads of Marseilles wheat, would 
flick flack out “The March of the Hobby-horse.” 
The carters from Beziers, with their barrels of 
brandy, would crack “The March of the Camel” 
— and so it would go on. Long before the cart 
came near them Jean would say: “That’s a Bur- 
gundian, bringing his watered wine to the Pari- 
sians ; ” or, “That’s an Auvergnat with his load of 
manure” — this last a time-honoured joke of the 
road, because for a long way in the wake of the 
Auvergne carts there lingered a strong smell of 
cheese. And for all the carters he met jean Cari- 
tous was ready with a bit of lively chaff. 

“ 1 say, you fellow from Lyons,” he would cry, 
“ what have you got in your cart ? ” 

“The silk from your silk-worms, Proven(;al.” 

“Well, if that’s your load you’d better stop 
where you are.’’ 

“What do you mean Don’t people dress 
themselves in Paris any more ?” 

“Oh yes, but they don’t wear silk cravats.” 

“ You’re joking! ” 

“Not a bit of it. If the guillotine keeps on at 
the rate it’s been going lately, in less than a month 
the executioner will be the only Parisian left with 
a neck to cravat! ” 

And then Caritous would say good-bye by 
cracking his whip once more to the tune of “The 
March of the Tarasque” — La-ga-di-ga-deu! And 
the Lyons man would answer him with the sharp 
tic-toc! tic-toc! of the shuttles flying in the Lyons 
looms. 

With all this light chaffing flying about the 


(ll)c language of t[)c Hoab. 


335 


journey was not dull; nor could it be dull to these 
prisoners set free from their little room in a dark 
court in the city and given the range of the bright 
countryside — with the glad knowledge that every 
turn of the big cart-wheels brought them nearer to 
their dear home. The hours slipped by blithely 
and even the days did not seem long. 

When the travellers were tired of jogging along 
in the cart they would jump down from it lightly 
and take a run on the turf bordering the roadside 
or be off into the fields. Sometimes they would 
stop and look at the ploughmen driving great red 
oxen with yokes made fast to their horns, and 
would listen with delight to the soft rustling mur- 
mur of the sharp ploughshare as it cut through the 
grass-roots and in even furrows turned up the soil. 
With this sound would be mingled the regular 
breathing of the strong patient beasts, and the 
creaking of the leather thongs which bound the 
ashen yoke to their horns. 

Flocks of birds hovered around and followed 
the ploughman and got a rich harvest out of the 
smoking furrow — anfs eggs, grubs, worms, all 
sorts of nice things. Sometimes a more than usu- 
ally impudent little wagtail even would perch 
for a moment on the slow - moving oxen’s 
horns! 

But there could not be much loitering by the 
way — Jean’s horses walked at too good a pace for 
that. If the travellers stood staring too long they 
had to make up their time by running after the 
cart. And when they overtook it, panting and 
breathless, Jean would pick them up in his strong 
arms and without stopping his horses would hoist 
them aboard. They were very comfortable in the 
cart. When the weather was foggy and damp the 
tilt covered them snugly; but when the weather 


33 ^ 


QLl)c STertor. 


was fair the tilt was turned back and they basked 
in the warm sunshine all day long. 

Sometimes a passing carter would call out: 
“Hello there, you Avignon fellow, what are you 
taking back from Paris ? ” 

And Jean would answer with a laugh: “A 
nest of linnets!” and as he spoke he would point 
under the tilt to the three wide-awake, bright- 
eyed faces with white teeth glinting in the sun- 
shine as they laughed. And then the other carter 
would laugh too. 

Often when there was a long stage to be made, 
and especially if it were near nightfall, Jean would 
sit on the front of the cart with his legs dangling 
and would tell stories of his many adventures on 
the road — of how robbers had stopped him in the 
Bois de la Dame, and on the bridge of Saint Jean 
d’Ardieres, and even in the forest of La Verdette — 
within sight of Avignon. And his stories always 
went to show that no matter how bad a scrape he 
got into, he invariably managed to get out of it. 
For from father to son, for generations past, his 
people had been carriers, and there was not a trick 
of the road for getting rid of robbers that they did 
not know. 

As the shades of night would fall darker and 
darker Jean would make his stories more and 
more blood-curdling — until he would be fairly 
lying on his back, with a highwayman bending 
over him holding a knife at his throat and de- 
manding his money or his life ! Adeline and 
Clairet would clutch hands and huddle together 
trembling, and even Lazuli at times would fall 
a-trembling too. They scarce ventured to draw 
their breath. Every bush, every stone heap, every 
mile-stone, seemed a crouching highwayman, gun 
in hand. They dared not turn their heads for fear 


S^I)e Canguage of tl)e Boab. 


337 


of seeing robbers climbing into the back of the 
cart — and they longed and longed to be at the inn 
where they would be safe for the night. And Jean, 
the scamp, was delighted with the success of his 
stories and spiced them hotter and hotter as he 
went on! 

“Well, if the brigands stopped me like that,” 
cried Lazuli, “ I would say to them: ‘Take every- 
thing — take the horses and the cart and the load ’ 
— and then I would run off as fast as my legs 
would carry me! ” 

“The deuce you would! Well I’ll never hire 
you to drive a cart! Just listen, now. My horses 
are worth at least a thousand crowns, and each 
one of them has a hundred crowns’ worth of har- 
ness on his back. My cart is new and cost me 
ten louis d’ors. As to my load, it doesn’t look 
like much, but that is worth a pretty penny too. 
And all that, you say, you’d give away for the 
asking! Why, at that rate, every one would turn 
robber! What are you thinking of.?” 

“That’s all very well,” said Lazuli, “but our 
flesh is nearer to us than our shifts^and one thinks 
twice before letting one’s self be killed! ” 

“ But suppose you could get out of the scrape 
with two little bags of small change, four sous 
worth of ground pepper, and a club ,? ” 

“Now you’re only joking.” 

“No, no, no. I’m not joking. I’m telling you 
plain truth — ^just as if I told you I had four fingers 
and a thumb on each hand.” 

“ What did you say — two little bags of small 
change, four sous’ worth of ground pepper, and 
your club .? That will rid you of the rob- 
bers .?” 

“ Very often the club is enough by itself.” 

“1 can understand the club very well, but 


338 


®I)c terror. 


what I don’t understand is the four sous’ worth of 
pepper! ” 

“Well, then, listen and I’ll tell you just how 
the trick’s done. If it is a ‘solitary,’ as we call 
them — that is a single robber — who stops me and' 
cries, ‘ Your purse or your life! ’ it is easy enough 
to get rid of him. I just say: ‘See here. I’m sure 
you’re a good fellow, and it is hunger that is driv- 
ing you to this work. Come nearer and I’ll give 
you my money, and much good may it do you.’ 
As I say this to him I open my box and pull out a 
bag of old sous all tinned over so that they look 
like crowns of three francs. In the other hand I 
take a handful of pepper. If the robber comes 
forward to take the bag, just at the moment he 
opens his eyes with delight at his good luck I 
fling my handful of pepper into them and blind 
him. And then, as he falls to howling and rub- 
bing his eyes, I smash him over the head with my 
club and knock the wits out of him. And so 1 
leave him lying there and off 1 go! 

“But if the rascal smells a rat and instead of 
coming to take the bag calls out ‘ Throw it to me,’ 

I manage things differently. Instead of my hand- 
ful of pepper I grab my club, and I throw the bag 
only a little way, a step or two. As he hears the 
picaioun jingle the robber can’t hold himself in. 
He jumps for the bag, and as he stoops to pick it 
up down comes my club — and he don’t get up in 
a hurry! / pick up the bag and off I go! ” 

“Yes, but suppose there are two?” said 
Lazuli. 

“Two? Well then I must keep my wits 
about me, and must see if they have guns or only 
sticks. If they have guns, I throw them the bag 
of money and leave it with them. After all, it is 
nothing but small change. If they have clubs — 


®l)e Canguage of tl)c Eoab. 


339 


well, then the pepper comes in again. They 
nearly always come to take the money, and 1 just 
divide the handful of pepper between them. 
When a man is blinded with pepper he is so help- 
less that a child could kill him with pin-pricks. 
Why, once 1 took two men prisoners with noth- 
ing but a fougasse.” 

“With a fougasse, a cake!” said Lazuli laugh- 
ing and clapping her hands. 

“ Well, you needn’t laugh so. It was a nice 
crusty fougasse, fried in the best olive oil.” 

“Come, come, Jean. What fools you must 
think us! ” 

“ Oh let him tell the story,” said Adeline, who 
delighted in his tales even when they made her 
flesh creep. 

“ When a man gets into a bad hole,” said Jean 
sententiously, “anything’s good that gets him 
out of it. That night what got me out of a bad 
hole was a fougasse, and it happened this way: 
About two years ago, close on Christmas, I was 
going up to Paris. It was after dark and getting 
late, and I was jogging along quietly with two or 
three leagues ahead of me before I got into Valence. 
All of a sudden I felt desperately hungry. I had 
not had a mouthful since midday, and so I said to 
myself: ‘ I’ve got a good fougasse in the box and 
ril just munch on that — for Valence and supper 
are a long way off.’ I got out my crusty fougasse, 
but I’d hardly sliced it through the middle when 
my horses stopped short and I saw two rapscal- 
lions holding Whitefeet by the bridle. And both 
of them shouted at once: ‘Your money or your 
life!’ 

“ Well, I looked sharp at them, and in spite of 
the darkness I was pretty sure that they were 
armed only with sticks. As for my arms, I had 


340 


®l)e QLcxxox. 


in each hand a half of a fougasse with its crusty 
horn sticking out But it takes more than two 
men to frighten me, and up I marched to them 
and pointed at their heads the two horns of the 
fougasse as if they were pistols, and I sung out : 
‘You rascals! Just you dare to stir a step and 
ril fire both my pistols and blow your brains 
out! ’ 

“ They must have been new hands at the busi- 
ness, 1 suppose, for my two horns of baked dough 
put them in a tremble down to their shoes and 
their teeth chattered so that they couldn't speak. So 
then 1 saw that 1 had things in my own hands, and I 
shouted: ‘Drop your clubs and go on ahead. If 
either of you turns around or tries to run away, 
he’s a dead man!’ And the two poor devils did 
what 1 ordered ! 1 drove them before me all the 

way to Valence, and there turned them over to 
the gendarmes. All the same, had they dared to 
look back they would have seen me eating my 
pistols! ” 

“ And when you leave a robber stunned in the 
road,” Lazuli asked, “ do you send the gendarmes 
after him as soon as you come to a village, so that 
he may be sent to the galleys if he doesn’t die of 
the crack on his head ? ” 

“Not 1! I’m mighty careful not to. Once, 
when 1 managed to get the better of seven of them 
in the Bois de Mornasse, 1 was fool enough to re- 
port it to the brigade at Orange. But I’ll never be 
caught that way again! ” 

“Why?” 

“ Why ? Because 1 had to go before the Gre- 
noble Parliament to bear witness, for it was there 
the seven rascals were tried. I saw them racked, 
and after their racking — while still alive — broken 
on the wheel. The trial lasted for three days and 


language of tlie Uoab. 


341 


three nights, and I lost seven working days which 
altogether cost me at least three louis d’or.” 

“What do you mean? Broken alive on the 
wheel ? 1 thought that when there was no ques- 

tion of murder they were sent to the galleys,” ex- 
clairrted Lazuli. 

“ Well, you see, these were a most uncommon 
lot of robbers,” said Caritous nodding his head. 

“ Oh, do tell us all about them,” cried Adeline. 

It did not need much begging to start off Jean 
Caritous, who would have kept on wagging his 
tongue under water. He cracked his whip, called 
out “He Falet” to the shaft horse, and began his 
story of the seven robbers. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


STORIES OF THE ROAD. 

“Three years ago come next Easter, my father 
said to me: ‘Jean, the roads are well guarded 
just now. The brigades of gendarmes have been 
doubled and the Soissons regiment is on duty too. 
We must get the good of this to make a trip to 
Lyons with those nine bales of saffron. And you 
must plan things for the home journey so as to not 
do much travelling at night, for you’ll come back 
with some fat bags of crowns.’ ‘ All right, father,’ 
said I. ‘Count on me. You can be comfortable 
and not worry. I’ll do as you say.’ 

“You remember what a long hard winter it 
was that year. As late as March the mountains 
were covered with snow. We heard in Avignon 
that the wolves had come down to the plains and 
were doing so much damage that all the flocks 
had been shut tight in their folds, and it even was 
said that they had killed and eaten a carrier and his 
horses in the Bois de la Dame. The story went 
that all that was found of the carrier were his boots, 
with his feet in them, and that nothing was left of 
the horses but their harness and hoofs and bones. 
I don’t know how true that was; but, anyhow, to 
be ready for the wolves I carried along my father’s 
gun. As I had but a light load I took the little 
cart with me and only two horses, Whitefeet and 
the Falet here — and off I went for the north. 

342 


Stories of tl)e floab. 


343 


“ When I got to Orange I found that my father 
was right about the road being well guarded. At 
the inn of the Roman Arch I found a detachment 
from the Soissons Regiment; and a lot of gen- 
darmes were quartered there too — for more gen- 
darmes were on duty than the barracks would hold. 
We all messed at the same table, and I told them 
1 was mighty glad to see them because with such 
a lot of them on guard the road was sure to be 
clear. 

“Well, I got to Lyons all right and turned over 
my load of saffron to the Lyons silk-dyer, and he 
gave me my pay for it in crowns of six francs. 
Lord but there was a lot of them! Just think of 
it — nine bales of saffron at ten crowns the little 
pound! It was such a bunch of picaio that 
I didn’t know but I’d have to go back for my big 
cart! 

“ I got away from Lyons at sunrise, saying to 
myself: ‘ Early starts and early stops for you, jean 
Caritous! With a load like this it won’t do to be 
on the road after dark ! ’ And I kept my word to 
myself until I got pretty nearly down again to 
Orange, and then I began to get in a hurry to get 
home — and one night I was just fool enough to 
push on through the Forest of Mornasse. 

“That was an unlucky push for me. I had 
not got a mile into the dark forest when all of a 
sudden I heard Whitefeet breathing hard and snuff- 
ing, and then he stopped short. I jumped ahead 
to see what was the matter, and there in the dark- 
ness I saw what looked like two live coals shining 
— and I knew that it was the eyes of a wolf crouch- 
ing to spring at my horse! Well, 1 settled that 
wolfs account for him. All the way down from 
Lyons I had kept my gun loaded and ready. In a 
second I had it in my hand and fired — and away 


344 


®l)e error. 


went the wolf into the forest howling over his 
wound. 

“ 1 petted and soothed my horses a little, and 
then off we started again. But it wasn’t good 
going, just then! The wounded wolf howled dis- 
mally off in the forest, and presently another wolf 
answered him from the other side of the road. 
Then another wolf began to howl twenty paces or 
so ahead of me, then another behind me, then 
another and another — until there were maybe a 
hundred, maybe a thousand, famished wolves 
howling all around me. 1 could hear them stirring 
in the underbrush close beside me. Some ran 
across the road in front of the cart. All around 
me in the darkness I could see their gleaming eyes. 
My horses were in a fury — rearing and plunging 
and doing everything but going on. I felt that I 
was done for! The howls got worse and worse. 
I was scared all the way through. I began to 
think how it would feel to be eaten alive that way. 
1 was so badly upset that 1 didn’t reload my gun. 
1 just stood up in my cart with my club in my hand 
waiting to fight for my life. My poor horses had 
got over their plunging. They were just shivering 
and trembling in a way fit to break your heart! ” 

“Oh, fm afraid! I’m afraid of the wolves!” 
Clairet burst out, hiding his head under his mother s 
apron and gripping her waist with his arms. 

“ Hush, hush, you little goose! Don’t you see 
there are no wolves here ? ” said Lazuli as she 
hugged him close to her. 

“Oh if I’m scaring you so, 1 won’t finish my 
story,” said Caritous— who liked nothing better 
than to be begged to go on. 

“Yes, yes, go on. We’re not afraid,” said 
Adeline, who all the same snuggled close to La- 
zuli’s side. 


Storks of tl)e Hoab. 


345 


“Well, as I was saying,” Jean continued, “I 
saw nothing but red open jaws and white teeth 
and flashing eyes! Luckily just then I remem- 
bered having heard my uncle, a hunter, say that 
wolves were afraid of fire. ‘Well, if I’m lost I’m 
lost, so here goes,’ said I — and I began to strike 
fire from my flint and steel at such a rate that there 
was a perfect shower of sparks flying around me. 
It was as good as fireworks I can tell you! And 
right off the wolves began to run away, and in a 
wink they were all gone ! I could hear them howl- 
ing, but nowhere near me.” 

“Then the wolves didn’t eat you up.^” said 
Clairet — his head out from under his mother’s 
apron. 

“No, they didn’t eat me up that time, but I 
still wasn’t out of my scrape. I sat down on my 
sacks of crowns and began to whistle to keep my 
courage up. The horses went on at a good pace, 
and I calculated that it would take about a halt 
hour to get out of the wood ; and then, after cross- 
ing the bridge over the Aigues, about an hour 
more to bring me to the Inn of the Roman Arch in 
Orange. All this time the night was growing 
blacker and blacker, and a bitter cold wind had 
started up. I stared hard with both eyes, fearing 
all the time that more wolves would break out on 
me from the close undergrowth. And then, all of 
a sudden, again the horses stopped short. 

“ ‘ Your money or your life! ’ shouted a man 
who had caught Whitefeet by the bridle. 

“‘Oh la! friend,’ said I, ‘if you need a few 
crowns it isn’t worth while to tan your skin to get 
them. I’m not a fellow who kicks against fate. 
How much do you want ?’ 

“ As I spoke I stood up, so as to get down 
from my cart, and what did I see ? Why, I saw 


346 


QLcxxox. 


three robbers coming on me from in front and 
three more close at the tail of the cart, and then 
there was the seventh who held the horse by the 
bridle. And everyone of the seven had his gun ! 
Their faces were daubed over black with powder. 
Five of them had kerchiefs wrapped around their 
heads, and the two others had wide-brimmed hats 
flapping down over their shoulders. ‘ Poor Cari- 
tous! ’ said 1 to myself, ‘you can recommend your 
money to the Devil and your soul to God! ’ 

“All the same, 1 kept my wits about me, and 
while 1 was pretending to hunt in my pocket for 
the key of my box 1 was doing all that 1 knew how 
to do with my eyes. 1 made out pretty certainly 
that five of the seven had wooden guns, and only 
two of them real ones — the two who had their hat- 
brims flapping down, and who were the leaders 
of the gang. These two, as they saw me fussing 
with the key in the lock, came forward to get the 
bags of money — while the others made a great 
show of keeping me covered with their wooden 
guns. ‘That’s all right,’ thought 1. ‘Just let me 
give your two calves’ heads a good peppering and 
then I’ll baste all your ribs for you — bogus and 
bastard robbers that you are ! ’ 

“Well, things went just to my mind. As 1 
hauled out the jingling bag of sham crowns both 
the cullions came grabbing for it at once — and 
whisk went the pepper into their eyes ! Friends 
of the Lord! How they did yell! But I didn’t 
give them time to dust themselves. Right and 
left 1 whacked them over the head with my club, 
and then down 1 jumped from my cart and went 
for the four other fellows — who had nothing to 
fight with but their wooden guns. It all went 
with such a rush that they didn’t know what had 
happened, and before they found out 1 sent two of 


Stories of tl)e Boob. 


347 


them on a journey without their wits into the 
ditch. And at that the other two, and the fellow 
who was holding the horses, took to their legs 
and went off into the wood like hares. 1 couldn’t 
think of any good reason just then for following 
them, and what I did was to get aboard my cart 
and whip up my horses — and in less than half an 
hour 1 was at the inn in Orange. 

“The inn was fuller than ever of soldiers and 
gendarmes, and 1 told them in a hurry what had 
happened to me and how I’d left four robbers 
for dead in the Mornasse wood. You can fancy 
what a stir that made! As soon as the Com- 
mandant heard of it he ordered a whole company 
of the Soissons regiment to saddle up, and sent 
his soldiers and a lot of gendarmes along with 
them to hunt through the Mornasse wood for my 
men. And when they were off the rest of us 
went to our suppers. 

“We still were at table when we heard the 
clatter of horses’ hoofs as the detachment came 
back again. They had my four robbers, sure 
enough, each tied fast behind a trooper — and who 
do you suppose they turned out to be ? But 
you’ll never guess, and 1 may as well tell you. 
The two leaders were a sergeant of the Soissons 
regiment and a sergeant of the gendarmes, who 
had blackened their faces and turned their coats 
inside out, and the two others belonged to the 
Soissons regiment too — and so, 1 suppose, did the 
three who got away. And that’s why, you see, 1 
had to go and bear witness against them at 
Grenoble, and that’s why they were racked and 
broken on the wheel.” 

While Jean reeled out his story of wolves and 
robbers his listeners sat bunched close together, 
and thrilled with a fright that was all the keener 


348 


®l)e (terror. 


because it was not avowed. Dusk was upon 
them, a bitter wind had arisen, and they were 
passing through a forest — it was most uncomfort- 
ably like the night when Jean was stopped in the 
Mornasse wood! As the wind soughed through 
the trees it sounded to them at times like the 
murmur of men’s voices and at times like the dis- 
tant howling of wolves. Lazuli was the first to 
s'peak. “ Where are we ? ” she asked. 

jean had drawn back under the tilt to shelter 
himself from the wind. He leaned forward and 
looked out, and then answered: “We are fairly 
in the forest of Villefranche — and we won’t get out 
of it in a hurry, either.” 

“ Is it far to the inn where we are to sleep ? ” 

“ Two little leagues, at the most.” 

“And are tltere any wolves here ” asked 
Adeline. 

“I don’t know, 1 never heard of any.” 

“ Or robbers ? ” asked Lazuli. 

“ Well, there are robbers everywhere — though 
we certainly don’t see so many of them now that 
the gendarmes of the Nation have taken the place 
of the gendarmes of the King. But it was in this 
very wood,” jean went on, consolingly, that poor 
Cournihoun, a Frejus carrier, was caught by a 
gang of them and burned alive. Poor fellow, how 
it must have hurt! It was partly his own fault, 
too. He was a hot-headed Royalist, and he had 
been told that all the robbers were for the Revolu- 
tion. And so, when he was caught, the big 
booby — thinking it would make things better for 
him — went to yelling ‘Vive la Nation! Vive la 
Revolution!’ and cried out: ‘We’re all brothers! 
I’m a good Red! ’ But, as ill-luck would have it, 
these robbers were some dogs of nobles who had 
taken to the road — and that was not the cry for 


Stories of tl)e tloab. 


349 


them at all! They got what money he had, and 
then they did for him — taking from his cart one of 
the barrels of perfume, that was much the same as 
pure alcohol, and soaking him with it, and then 
hanging him head downward to a tree and start- 
ing a fire under him. The next morning some 
travellers found him — it was right along here, 
somewhere — burned to a crisp! ” 

“But there are no robbers in this wood now, 

I suppose,” said Lazuli with a shake in her voice. 

“ Oh, very likely not,” Jean answered with an 
off-hand air. “And, of course, things like that 
don’t happen every day. Still, you never know 
what may happen, and ifs Just as well to be on 
your guard.” 

As jean had told his story night had fallen black 
on them, and back under the tilt the travellers 
were in a little pocket of darkness. At the very 
moment that he made this comforting speech the 
cart jolted with a queer noise and the horses 
stopped short. “Heavens! we are lost!” cried 
Lazuli. Adeline screamed. The two clasped 
their arms about Clairet protectingly, and Clairet 
yelled! 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Caritous, as he jumped 
down from his cart. “You’re easily frightened! 
Look, we are in the wagon-house of the Cross- 
ways Inn ! ” 

The horses, knowing the way, of their own 
accord had turned into the big doorway and had 
entered the inn yard — and were standing still 
in the middle of it sniffing the good smell of 
the hay. 


23 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


A FIERCE VENGEANCE. 

Lazuli and Adeline, laughing at their fright, 
jumped out of their cart in a moment, and ran to 
warm themselves in the inn kitchen before the big 
blazing fire. 

In front of the fire, as in all the inns at which 
they stopped, three spits were turning — laden with 
fowls and turkeys and rousing joints. The poultry 
was delicately brown. The strips of bacon with 
which it was larded had dwindled to mere threads. 
From the fat breasts there was a steady drip, drip, 
drip, of savory gravy into the pans beneath. The 
Crossways Inn was famous for its good meat and 
bread and wine; and so, although it was famous 
for its good beds too, travellers who stopped there 
sat long over their meals. 

Jean Caritous and his little party fell in with the 
custom of the house and did not go to bed till late. 
Long after they had finished their supper they sat 
on at the table, listening to the talk of their com- 
panions — carriers from the Vivarais and from Lan- 
guedoc and from Provence. Each had his own 
list of troubles and accidents by the way, but all 
had much the same story to tell about the rushing 
whirlwind of the Revolution in their own homes. 
They all had heard of the death of the King, but 
either from prudence or cunning they kept their 
opinions regarding it to themselves. ^They talked 
350 


^ i^imc bengcance. 


351 


freely enough of Reds and Whites, of prisons and 
of guillotines, of national festivals and of national 
massacres — but, at the end of it all, the devil him- 
self could not have told to which party any of them 
belonged. At last, each with his convictions safe- 
ly hidden away in his own mind, they all went to 
bed. 

They lay late, which was another custom of the 
travellers who stopped at this jolly-going Cross- 
ways Inn. The sun was shining brightly before 
anybody had thought of harnessing up, and per- 
haps they might have idled still longer had not the 
ringing of the tocsin in the village belfry set every- 
body astir. In a twinkling the carriers were down in 
the stables and getting ready for the start ; and while 
they bustled about they were wondering what the 
tocsin could be ringing for so early in the day. 
Lazuli and Adeline, having no horses to harness, 
walked out together to discover for themselves the 
meaning of the alarm. And presently they met a 
man who told them. 

‘Mt’s not here in Villefranche,” the man said. 

ITs over in the next village. The peasants have 
been hanging their lord the baron and now they’re 
parading his baroness around on an ass.” 

' ‘ Holy Virgin ! ” cried Adeline. ' ‘ And are they 
killing people here in the country too! ” 

Dear child,” said Lazuli, “how can it be 
helped ? This baron and his baroness may have 
been cruel evil-doers, or they may have been good 
and kind. But they are of those who have done 
great wrongs. In these times many who are sin- 
less must pay for the sins of others — for the wrath 
of the People strikes without distinction, like the 
thunderbolts of God! ” 

An old woman who was passing shook her 
head gravely and said : “ It is well done. It is very 


352 


S^crror. 


well done. This will teach them what comes of 
starving folks to death! ” 

“ What are you saying Lazuli asked. 

“What am I saying ? Why, I am saying that 
it is well done. They hung him before the door 
of his own chateau ! ” 

“But why.? What had he done 

“ Where do you come from that you ask such 
a question ? Don’t you know that in the famine 
year his granaries were bursting full of wheat and 
yet not a grain of it would he give to those who 
were dying of hunger ? When the poor starving 
folks went to him to beg for food he shouted to 
them: ‘Get out! Get away, you pack of vermin! 
If you’re hungry, eat one hand to-day and keep the 
other for to-morrow! ’ ” 

“ But what is this about riding his wife on an 
ass .? ” 

“It’s little enough for that cruel woman to 
ride her on an ass. Under the knife of the guillo- 
tine is where she ought to be! But what they 
are doing to her you can see for yourself. Here 
she comes — don’t you see the crowd down the 
road .?” 

Frightened, yet eagerly expectant, Adeline and 
Clairet drew close to Lazuli and the three stood 
waiting to see what was coming. All the villagers 
were clustered along the roadside. Everybody — 
host, hostess, servants, travellers — came hurrying 
out from the inn. 

The crazy procession was headed by a woman 
beating a drum, and behind her came a man carry- 
ing a pitchfork on which was stuck the baron’s 
head. One of his dead hands was stuffed into his 
dead mouth — the mouth that so often had said to 
the peasants: “Eat one hand to-day and keep the 
other hand for to-morrow! ” On went the bloody 


^ iFierce bengeance. 


353 


head with its staring eyes and the dead hand stick- 
ing out from the dead jaws. 

Directly behind the man bearing the baron’s 
head came the baroness, naked as the dav she was 
born, set astride of an ass with her face toward its 
tail. The brute was mangy and old, but he was so 
excited by the yells and pushing and bustle of the 
furious crowd that he frisked along with his ears ‘ 
laid back and his head held high. At times he 
seemed to glance back over his shoulder with a 
wanton eye at the dimpled flesh of the woman he 
was bearing upon his back. But that white ten- 
der flesh was streaked with the livid weals of whip- 
strokes, and the woman shivered with pain as well 
as with the shame of her nakedness. Yet beyond 
all this was a ghastly touch of loathsome horror: 
in her mouth she held a bloody hand freshly severed^ 
from her husband’s wrist! 

In a frenzy of passionate rage the peasants 
crowded about her — beating her with sticks, throw- 
ing mud on her, spitting on her; and all the while 
crying to her: “Are you hungry.^ Well, then, 
eat that hand! You shall have the other to-mor- 
row! ” If the hand dropped from her mouth some 
one instantly snatched it up and thrust it again be- 
tween her teeth and lashed her for letting it fall — 
or held it for a moment while the man who bore 
the baron’s head on the pitchfork thrust her hus- 
band’s dead lips against her own. 

Lazuli went pale and trembled. Adeline hid 
her face in her hands. Clairet buried himself in 
his mother’s apron with his little cry: “I’m afraid. 
I’m afraid! ” And then the procession swept past 
them and disappeared into the narrow streets of 
Villefranche. 

The inn people went back to their duties in the 
inn, and the carriers to their work of making ready 


354 


(Il)e terror. 


for the road. Quickly the teams were brought out 
from the stables and hitched to the two dozen or 
more carts. The impatient horses neighed to each 
other, stamped their feet with a great clatter on the 
stone pavement, champed their bits and tossed their 
heads — all their bells jingled together and filled with 
a gay music the courtyard of the Crossways Inn. 

jean Caritous, the only one of the company who 
owned a horse with four white feet, was the first 
to start. The others waited until he had passed 
out through the arched gateway and then fell into 
line in his wake. For every one knows that a 
carrier with a whiteTooted horse has the right of 
way over all other carriers throughout the land of 
France. It is his right to start first from inns, to 
lead the line on the march, to make oncoming 
^carriers pull up and wait until he shall have trav- 
ersed narrow places in the road or crossed bridges, 
to stable his team at night ahead of all others, to be 
loaded first of the convoy, to discharge his load 
first at the end of the run. This is the law of the 
road — and any carrier who wishes to break it is 
held in check by the assured conviction that who- 
ever does break it will be crushed to death within 
the year beneath his own cart! 

So Jean Caritous cracked his whip and went off 
at the head of the long procession ; and by virtue 
of his brevet captaincy took upon him to plan the 
order of the march. 

“From here to Lyons,” he said to the others, 
“is a long pull for the morning and a short pull for 
the whole day. Suppose we get our dinner at the 
Golden Mountain and make a stage right through 
Lyons this afternoon to Serezin ?” 

“ That sounds sensible, ” said one of the carriers. 
“They know how to cook at the Golden Moun- 
tain.” 


^ iTierce bengeance. 


355 


“ And they have wine there that isn’t all water,” 
said another. 

And so the matter was settled. The convoy 
made the noon halt at the Golden Mountain, and 
then went on through Lyons without stopping 
at all. 

Lazuli and Adeline were well pleased with this 
arrangement. The big city reminded them too 
sharply of that hateful Paris in which their suffer- 
ings had been so keen. There were the same tall 
houses, the same narrow streets. They passed 
through crowds of sans-culottes and dishevelled 
drunken women. On the Grande Place stood a 
guillotine with its bloody knife. 

They were thankful enough when they found 
themselves once more on the high road, with. the 
open fields around them and off across the fields the 
beautiful Rhone. They could not take their eyes 
off the shining river — that also was hurrying on- 
ward to Avignon ! It seemed to them like an old 
and very dear friend. And then the trees — the 
poplars tall as church spires and the silvery-leaved 
willows — were Avignon trees too. Even the moun- 
tains had the pink and lilac tones of their own 
Alpilles and of the hills above Roquemaure and 
Villeneuve and Barbentane. It all put a bright new 
life into them. Without a word, Adeline and La- 
zuli kissed each other — and then gazed again on 
the great friendly river running beside them on its 
way to their own dear home! 

Soon dull dark Lyons was left far behind, sulk- 
ing under her cloak of mist; and the farther that 
they went on the more homelike looked the 
country and the more friendlike the people whom 
they met. They lay that night at Serezin, and the 
next day came into still closer touch with their 
Avignon when they reached Condrieu and found 


356 


0:i)c ®err0r. 


themselves in the thick of the Rhone boatmen — 
those good fellows who gallop down and toil up 
the river in their flat-bottomed boats, and who 
make such a stir in the little inns on the Avignon 
waterside about the ruined bridge of Saint Bene- 
zet. The travellers longed to jump out of the cart 
and shake hands with these good fellows; but had 
to be content with looking at them and listening 
to scraps of their talk — and all the while trying to 
fancy themselves back again in Avignon, beneath 
the ramparts at the Porte de la Ligne or under the 
big arch of the bridge that spans the riverside 
road where gay farandoles are danced day after 
day. 

As the convoy went on southward it broke up 
gradually. From time to time one of the long line 
of carts, or two or three together, would turn aside 
toward the Alps or would cross the river by ferry 
or bridge and go off toward the Cevennes, and at 
last they all were gone — and Jean Caritous with 
his “cage of linnets” kept on his way alone 
toward the lovely Provence sun. 

The travellers were not sorry to have the carts 
leave them, and so to get Jean to themselves again. 
While with the convoy he always was dropping be- 
hind to talk with the other carriers about horses 
and harness and carts, and then to start afresh and 
talk about carts and harness and horses. It went 
that way all day long. They much preferred that 
he should sit on the front of the cart and tell them 
stories of robbers and wolves. 

“ When do we get to Valence ? ” Lazuli asked. 

“To-morrow night,” Jean answered. “That 
village over there on the inner bank is Andancette. 
But here comes something that will make you feel 
as if you were home in Avignon. Don’t you feel 
the mistral ? ” 


^ iTierce bcngeance. 


357 


“Yes, yes! Oh the good wholesome wind!” 
cried Lazuli. “Jump up Clairet and put your 
nose out of the cart and smell the dear good mis- 
tral.” 

“I don’t see anything,” said Clairet, who had 
opened his eyes very wide and stared all round. 

“You little goose — as if anybody could see the 
wind! But feel how good it is, how fresh and 
sweet, how it tills you all up with new life! ” 

“ 1 like jam better,” Clairet answered as he got 
back under the tilt, his little nose and his cheeks 
reddened by the lively wind. 

“Oh, what a glutton ! ” laughed jean. “ Well, 
I can tell you this: you’ll get something at dinner 
to-day you haven’t tasted since you left Avignon.” 

“ What is it asked all three of the linnets in 
one breath. 

“ You’ll never guess! ” 

“ Well then, tell us.” 

“1 like fig-jam better,” said Clairet stoutly. 

“Very well, sir, then 1 won’t tell you what it 
is and you sha’n’t have any!” Jean said with a 
great air of being huffed. 

“Never mind about Clairet — whisper it to 
Adeline and me.” 

“ Hush! ” said Caritous. “I think 1 hear bells,” 
and he jumped down from his cart with his whip 
in his hand. He drew the lash smoothly through 
his fingers, and then — Flick, Flack! La-ga-di-ga- 
deu, off he went with “The March of the Ta- 
rasque.” From far down the road, very faintly, 
came back the answer: one whip starting the air, 
and then others taking it up until a whole chorus 
was cracking back to him his own tune. 

“They are all from Provence or the Comtat,” 
said Jean, “and one of them, for sure, comes from 
Avignon.” While he still was speaking the first 


358 


®l)e terror. 


cart rounded a distant turn in the road. Close 
behind it came the others, the sunshine gleaming 
on their white tilts, until a line of nearly twenty 
carts was coming onv/ard to the music of the 
tinkling bells. Jean bore away to the right to 
make room for the convoy and stopped his team. 
“ Hello, Mouret of Barbentane,’’ he cried, as the 
first cart came abreast of him, “what are you 
taking up to the Parisians under that fine new 
tilt.?” 

“ Hello yourself, Caritous, I’m taking up the 
three bells from our parish church.” 

“And you, old Graveson, what are you tak- 
ing?” 

“ I’m taking bells too. A couple from our own 
Graveson church, and a couple more from the 
church at Maillane.” 

“ Thunder of Heaven! ” exclaimed Jean. “Are 
the Parisians to have all the bells of Provence ? 
Are you loaded with bells too, Ratie ? ” 

“Yes, bells too. iViine came from the tower 
of Saint Martha at Tarascon.” 

“ And the rest of you ? ” 

“All bells. Castigot has the bells of Mour- 
meiron; Brulat has the bells of Saint Siffren at 
Carpentras; your cousin Quatre-Bras has the bells 
of Saint Agricol at Avignon — and so it goes down 
the whole line. All bells.” 

Presently Jean’s cousin came along and stopped 
to shake hands. “How is everybody at home .? 
What’s the news ? ” Jean asked. 

“ Everybody’s well and there isn’t any news — 
except that Vauclair is getting the fidgets because 
you are so long on the road. What’s kept you 
so .?” 

“ It was the snow. Nothing’s happened.” 

“Well, good-bye to you, Jean.” 


^ irierce bengeance. 


359 


“Good-bye and good luck to you, (^atre- 
Bras.” And then they shook hands again and 
Quatre-Bras ran after his cart — while Lazuli and 
Adeline called good-bye and good luck to him, 
for it almost seemed to them that in this Avi- 
gnonais they saw Vauclair. 

The long line of carts went on past them, all 
laden with foils. Bells of all sizes and from every- 
where. From Feme, from Aix, from Saint Andeol, 
from Orgon, from Cavaillon, from half the towns 
in Provence. Curfew bells, big deep-booming 
bells, shrill-voiced little bells — all torn from their 
homes up in the blue heaven, where the swallows 
had wheeled around them as they rang out Easter 
Alleluias or Christmas noels. From square towers 
of heavy masonry, from tall spires rich with lace- 
like carvings and delicate fret-work, whence they 
had pealed for marriages and baptisms and haH 
tolled for deaths, whence they had rung for matins 
and vespers and feast-day services and Sunday 
prayers, they had been wrenched away and low- 
ered to the ground. Their tongues had been torn 
out — never again would they speak in mellow 
tones to man. And then, dumb in their sorrow, 
they had been piled into carts and bound fast like 
robbers for their long journey to Paris — with its 
fiery ending at the cannon foundry of Saint Thomas 
of Hell! At the past Christmas, from their home 
in the blue sky with the birds about them, they had 
rung their blithe noels, the message of good will 
and peace. But before their sweet voices would 
be missed in the singing of Easter Alleluias they 
would be bells no longer, but cannon — black war 
serpents, dragged through a mire of blood to belch 
forth agony and death to man ! 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE SECRET OF JEAN CARITOUS. 

Of all the long line of carts only the last had 
not a lading of bells. In this last cart were two 
barrels,, and as it came abreast of him Jean Can- 
tons called out: “Hello there, Ramadie de Beau- 
caire ! What have you got in your barrels ? In that 
empty country of yours are there not even bells ?” 

The Beaucaire man stopped fora moment, and 
grinned as he answered: “Well, if you can guess 
what’s in those barrels you’re less of a lunkhead 
than you look ! ” 

“ Wine ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Water ?” 

“ No.” 

“Well then, wine and water together-— 
quette?” 

“There, there! I can’t stop here for a week 
while you make fool guesses. I’ll just tell you and 
get on. Those barrels are sent from Nimes to the 
Paris mint, and they’re full of old iron! That’s 
funny stuff to put in a barrel, isn’t it } ” and the 
Beaucaire man laughed and ran after his cart. 

But jean Caritous did not laugh. As he grasped 
the rein and started his team again he shook his 
head and said gravely: “ If Ramadie knew what 
he really was carrying in his barrels he might be 
tempted to travel alone! ” 

360 


^\)c Secret of Jfean (taritons. 


361 


“What do you think he’s carrying?” asked 
Lazuli. 

“Mum’s the word,” Jean answered shortly. 

“But he said it was old iron he was taking 
from Nimes to the Paris mint. Whoever gave him 
his lading would tell him what it was.” 

At Marseilles they gave my Genevieve’s father 
a lading of two barrels to take to the Paris mint, 
and they told him just the same thing. They said 
it was old iron.” 

“Well?” 

“ Well, he went up to Paris alone! ” 

“I’m sure I don’t see what you’re driving at, 
Jean. What is there in a load of old iron to make 
such a mystery about ? But 1 suppose you don’t 
get on very well with Bastien, your Genevieve’s 
father. Your people can’t be overly pleased with 
the match. She’s as good and as pretty as a girl 
can be, but everybody knows that the twenty 
nails of her toes and fingers will be the whole of 
her portion.” 

“Do you think so. Lazuli? Now that’s just 
where you are making a mighty big mistake!” 
And as Jean said this he jumped up on the cart and 
settled himself comfortably, as he always did when 
he was going to tell a story. 

But he did not begin it, and Lazuli — who was 
as sharp as a needle — saw that she would have to 
help him to make a start. “ Well, of course,” she 
said, “ it’s no business of mine whether your Gene- 
vieve comes to you with a portion or without one. 
And I do know this much: even if she isn’t rich in 
money she’s rich in virtue, and for the kind of peo- 
ple we are that’s best.” 

“My Genevieve will have as much moneyas 
she has virtue,” Jean blurted out — being quite un- 
able for another moment to hold his tongue. “I 


362 


terror. 


can talk right out to you about it, Lazuli, for you’re 
not the chatterbox kind.” 

“No I’m not,” Lazuli answered. And as she 
laid a finger upon her lips she added : “ You know 
me, Jean.” 

“Yes, I do — and 1 trust you. Lazuli. And 
now I’m going to tell you something that will 
make you open your eyes.” As jean spoke he 
settled himself still more comfortably in his seat 
and was silent for a moment, and then he fairly 
got under way. 

“It happened this way,” he said. “About 
three months ago, I went one evening as usual 
courting my Genevieve. We’ve been keeping 
company for over two years now, you know, and 
when Bastien is away Marianne — Genevieve’s 
mother — lets me come to the house. Bastien was 
on the road to Paris. Two or three weeks earlier 
he had got an order to carry two barrels of old 
iron from the Hotel de Ville in Marseilles to the 
Paris mint. We did not expect to lay eyes on 
him again for three months. 

“ Things were very nice that night. Marianne 
was spinning on one side of the fire. Genevieve 
was reeling yarn on the other. I was sitting be- 
tween them — and close to my Genevieve, that 
way, I was just in Paradise! All of a sudden we 
heard a jingle of bells and the rumble of a big cart 
out in the street, and Marianne cocked up her ears 
and listened for a minute and then she said: ‘ Well, 
if 1 didn’t know that it couldn’t be, I should say 
that that was my Bastien. Those are his bells all 
over, and it sounds just like his cart’ 

“ Before she’d fairly finished speaking, the cart 
stopped in front of the house and then the door 
opened and in came Bastien! He looked sort of 
scared and queer, and without any ‘ how d’ye do » 


®1)C Secret of Sean Olaritons. 


363 


or anything he said : ‘ Quick ! Hurry up and open 
the door into the stable and let me get in with my 
load!’ And then, as he saw me, he went on: 
‘Hello, Jean! you here? So much the better. 
You’ll give me the help 1 want’ And then he 
went back to his cart, and Genevieve and 1 ran 
out and unbarred the door. 

“ In another moment he had the cart inside — 
with its load of two barrels, just like those we saw 
ten minutes ago on the Beaucaire cart — and while he 
stabled his horses Genevieve and I shut and barred 
the door. 

“ Old Bastien seemed to be in a great taking, 
and we didn’t know what was going to happen — 
for he’s got a devil of a temper and goes off like 
powder with a spark. ‘ Go and lock the street 
door,’ he growled, ‘ and if anybody knocks they’re 
not to come in. Nobody must know that I’ve 
come here with this load.’ 

“ Marianne stood holding the lantern. ‘There 
are three good ladiesful of bean soup in the pot,’ 
she said. ‘ Come and get it. You must be hun- 
gry. ’ But Bastien snarled out : ‘ Hold your tongue ! 
There is no time to eat, nor to talk either. Get 
that door fastened, and then fetch me the pincers 
and the crowbar and an axe.’ 

“ Well, we did what he ordered us to do, and 
then he took down the tail-board of the cart and he 
and I together got the barrels out, letting them 
down very gently — and it wasn’t easy to manage 
them, for they were heavy as lead ! When we had 
them on the ground Bastien turned to me and 
cracked out, short and sharp : ‘ j ean, are you a man ? ’ 

“ ‘ I think so,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Well then, never do you open your mouth 
about this to anybody, if you want to have Gene- 
vieve for your wife! ’ 


3^4 


®l)c terror. 


“ ‘You can count on me, Bastien,’ I said. 

“Then he turned to Genevieve and growled: 
‘ If ever you say a word I’ll drag your tongue out 
with these pincers — and I mean that for you too, 
Marianne! Women must chatter, but this is not 
a thing to chatter about. Remember now, both 
of you, what I say. You are forewarned.’ And 
the old fellow glared at them savagely and held 
the pincers right against Genevieve’s lips. The 
poor child was so scared that she went pale 
as death and had to steady herself by leaning 
against the wall. And Marianne was all in a trem- 
ble too. 

“ Then Bastien set to work to open the barrels, 
and he had a hard job of it. A well-made, iron- 
hooped barrel don’t come open easily unless you 
know how to manage it — and Bastien didn’t know 
how. He banged away at it like a crazy man — all the 
time puffing and blowing and sweating — and at 
last he got the upper hoops off and then with the 
crowbar pried out the head. As that head came 
out our eyes were fairly dazzled! We saw pyxes 
of silver and chalices of gold and glittering mon- 
strances — and under these, as we lifted them out, 
we found more sacred vessels of gold or of silver, 
along with gold crosses and hearts and chains and 
medals and crosses set with diamonds and pearls! 
It was such a treasure that the mere sight of it 
was enough to turn one’s brain ! 

“ ‘ Is the other barrel like this one.^’ Marianne 
asked, as she held the lantern high so that she 
could see better. 

“‘Yes it is,’ Bastien answered. ‘These two 
barrels are full of the treasure of the Aix and Mar- 
seilles churches, and of what has come from the 
churches in the roundabout towns. Look at it!’ 
and as he talked he kept on lifting out the shining 


Qccxct of Jeon CHoritons. 365 


things until all around him the stable floor glittered 
with them. 

“Then he set to work on the other barrel, and 
as he had found out how to do the trick he had the 
head off in no time. Then out came more and 
more treasure — gold and silver candlesticks, shields 
belonging to the different brotherhoods, and more 
chalices and pyxes and monstrances. The stable 
floor was covered with gold and silver: and we 
stood staring at it and each other as much as to 
sav, ‘ What can we do with it ? How is it to be 
hidr 

“ But old Bastien had made his plans, and he 
said to us: ‘Now then, children, up with it into 
the hay-loft and cover it well with hay!’ And 
then we set to work carrying it up. I can see my- 
self now going up the ladder with a chalice in my 
free hand and a big monstrance under each arm 1 

“ But when we’d taken half of the stuff up into 
the hay-loft Bastien called a halt. ‘Children,’ said 
he, ‘ a rat with only one hole is soon caught. The 
rest must go somewhere else. There’s another 
piece of work for you to do now, Jean.’ 

“ 1 was all dazed — just like a man in a dream. 
And 1 felt like a man speaking in a dream as 1 an- 
swered : ‘ Give your orders. Master Bastien. What- 
ever you want done I’ll do.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ take a spade and dig a hole 
out there by the dung heap in the stable yard.’ 
And without a word, at it 1 went in my dream, 
while Genevieve held the lantern for me. We 
neither of us said a word. She was in a dream 
too, 1 suppose — struck dumb, as I was, by finding 
ourselves in the presence of this treasure that 
seemed to have dropped on us like manna from 
the skies. And I suppose that she was thinking, 
just as 1 was — so far as either of us could think 
24 


366 


terror. 


anything — that as the treasure had been taken 
away from the churches we had as good a right to 
it as anybody else. And so I dug away at the hole, 
and at last I got it finished and we put into it the 
rest of the gold and silver vessels and 1 covered 
them with earth ; and then we all set to work with 
pitchforks and cleaned out the stable and covered 
the place where all those holy things were hidden 
with dung. 

“ But our work was not nearly finished. Old 
Bastien had to load up and be off before daylight, 
for it would not do for anybody to know that he 
had stopped at his own home. The question was 
what to put in the barrels, but Bastien had thought 
about that and had settled what he meant to do. 

‘ Old iron was what they told me was in these bar- 
rels, ’he said, ‘ and old iron it shall be! ’ And then 
we set to work to get together all the old iron we 
could lay our hands on to make up the load. Old 
chains and hammers and barrel-hoops and shovels 
and cranes and sickles and saws — everything of 
iron went into our heap. But with it all we could 
not get enough to fill those two big barrels. 

“Then Bastien went to knocking off the iron 
bolts from the doors and windows. We found an 
old plough and put that in. There was an old cart 
in the yard, and Bastien broke away the ironwork 
from that. And we ended by cleaning out from 
the kitchen all the pots and kettles, and the flat- 
irons and andirons, and even the spit and the shov- 
el and tongs. And so at last we got the two bar- 
rels full, and Bastien put in the heads and fastened 
the hoops, and we got them back into the cart, 
and everything looked just as it did when Bastien 
started from Marseilles. He and 1 hitched up the 
horses, and then — without so much as a good-bye 
to anybody — off he started on his trip to Paiis. 


(S:i)e Semt of loan QTaritons. 


367 


No one ever knew that he had stopped at his own 
home, and his load was exactly what it ought to 
be according to the way-bill that he had from the 
Marseilles municipality: ‘Two barrels of old iron.’ 
And what have you got to say now, Lazuli, about 
my Genevieve’s portion ? Don’t you think that 
she’ll bring me something better than her twenty 
nails ?” 

“ Well, 1 just think this, Jean Caritous. What 
you have told me is the most abominable thing 
that ever 1 have heard of. 1 wouldn’t have be- 
lieved it of you, jean. ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ 1 mean that old Bastien and his wife Marianne 
and his daughter Genevieve and you, Jean Caritous, 
are four robbers! You’ve stolen the property of 
the Nation. You’ve stolen what belongs to the 
whole country. The poorest of the poor as well 
as the richest of the rich has the right to say to 
you: ‘ You have robbed me! ’ ” 

Jean turned pale as Lazuli spoke, and in answer 
he stammered : “ 1 told you that it all seemed like a 
dream to me and I couldn’t think clearly — and that 
it seemed to me, as well as 1 could make out, that 
as those things didn’t belong to the people who 
were sending them, or to anybody in particular 
now that the churches are broken up, they were 
as much ours as anybody else’s.” 

“Belonged to nobody, you say.^” cried La- 
zuli. “Oh Jean, how wicked you are to say that! 
They belong to the Nation — to us all! You are 
worse than robbers — you are traitors! Don’t you 
know that the whole big world has risen up 
against us — against our France, our Nation — and 
that we are fighting for our Nation’s life ? The 
poor give their blood, the rich give their money to 
help in that fight. The church bells go to make 


368 


®I)e (terror. 


cannon, the church treasures go to feed and to 
clothe our armies — who are fighting to defend our 
land and our Liberty. And you, jrow Jean Caritous, 
have helped to steal from the Nation some of this 
treasure that is so bitterly needed! You have 
helped to take the bread out of the mouths and 
the guns out of the hands of our soldiers! Oh, 
shame on you! Shame on you! You will be a 
wretched traitor if ever you touch a grain of that 
stolen gold ! ” 

Lazuli poured all this out at boiling heat, but 
instead of making jean angry her strong words 
seemed to comfort him. When she had finished 
he said: “1 will tell you the honest truth. Lazuli. 

I have been telling you about what happened that 
night because 1 wanted to get it off my mind. Ever 
since I woke up from the sort of dream that I got 
into that night — when the sight of all that wealth 
seemed to daze me — I have been feeling that I was 
a robber, just as you say. Now you have made it 
all still clearer to me — and not one scrap of that 
treasure ever shall be mine. And what’s more, 1 
shall see to it — as 1 must do to keep the honour of 
an honest man — that it all is given back to the Na- 
tion, for to the Nation it belongs.” 

“Ah jean, you make me happy now. Now 
you are the sort of man that 1 thought you were. 

1 couldn’t believe that you were a robber — and you 
weren’t. Even if I hadn’t said a word I’m sure 
that it all would have gone back to the Nation as 
soon as ii got into your hands.” 

“Thank you. Lazuli,” jean answered in a glad 
voice. “ And there is one more thing that 1 want 
to tell you — Genevieve feels just as I do, and we 
have settled between us that everything must be 
given back to the Nation. We sha’n’t keep even 
the shank of a button for ourselves.” 


®l)e Secret of Sean €aritons. 


369 


For answer to this Lazuli took Jean’s hand in 
both of hers and squeezed it hard. And then they 
were silent with their own thoughts. 

Clairet had not taken the slightest interest in all 
this. While jean and his mother talked together 
he was following in his own little mind the thread 
of Jean’s very interesting statement before this dull 
talk began. And so, when there came a silence, 
he pulled at the carrier’s blouse and said earnestly : 
“Tell me, Jean, what is this thing we’re going to 
have that’s better than jam 

“Oh you little scamp!” Jean answered. 
“You’re always thinking about eating. But you 
must wait a little. Do you see that church steeple 
over there ? Well, right beside that church we’re 
to get our dinner. And then you’ll find out all 
about this wonderful good thing to eat — and not 
before.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


IN THE TURBULENT SOUTH. 

“Valence! Valence!” cried Lazuli and Adeline 
together, as they looked in the direction in which 
Jean pointed, and they clapped their hands for joy. 
And just then, as though expressly for their pleas- 
ure, the great clouds which had been hiding the 
sun rolled away and left an azure sky, and over 
the whole landscape came so dazzling a rush of 
light and brightness that they were forced to shade 
their eyes with their hands — as they looked at the 
far-off white houses of Valence farandoling down 
from the high hilltop to the border of the Rhone. 

The horses, knowing that they were nearing 
their midday halt for rest and food, stepped out 
briskly and set their bells to jingling a livelier tune. 
The travellers talked gaily as the roadside hedges 
slipped past them, and it was in a very light- 
hearted mood that they reached Valence and drove 
under the archway of the Peacock Inn. And there 
they were still more light-hearted — for everybody 
was talking Proven(;:al, and it seemed just as though 
they were back in Avignon on the Place Pie! The 
very smell of the place — of bouillabaisse and aioli 
— was homelike; and set out on the dining table 
they found homelike food: big dishes piled up 
with oily black olives and with cracked green 
olives, and other big dishes heaped with nougat 
made from the honey of La Baume. The nougat 
370 


3 n tlie Surbttlent Soxttl). 


371 


was the delicacy that Jean had been so mysterious 
about, and when Clairet saw it he gave a delighted 
little yell! And everybody at the table knew 
everybody else, and they all talked together in 
Provencal at the top of their voices, and they all 
joked and laughed. It was not in the least like the 
cloudy dismal land behind them, where every man 
set a guard on his lips and where laughter was un- 
known. 

Still, there in gay Valence the guillotine had 
been set up on the hilltop and stood out black 
against the bright blue sky. But even the guillo- 
tine was shorn of some of its horrors in that bright 
land, where the sunshine set the knife to gleaming 
and glittering and made it seem almost a toy. 
And while there were plenty of drums clattering 
in the streets they had not the sinister sound and 
meaning of the Paris drums. They were tapping 
out gay farandoles, not alarms. 

And as they found things in Valence, so they 
found them in the other towns and villages as they 
went on southward. That there were no tocsins 
sounding did not count for much as the bells were 
gone! But the drumming all was gay drumming; 
and instead of the horrible “ ^a ira ” — which 
seemed to mean that hate would go on forever — 
people were singing the patriot song of the Mar- 
seillaise. 

Therefore they ate a very happy dinner that 
day in happy Valence — the outpost city of their 
own dear South ! And they were both joyful and 
thankful as they drove on again in the afternoon 
because at every turn in the road some town or 
village came into sight of which the name had 
been familiar to them all their lives. They could 
not keep quiet in their linnets’ nest under the tilt. 
They stood up in the front of the cart and basked 


372 


®l)e terror. 


in the pure strong sunshine of the South from 
which they had been banished for half a year. 
The few clouds had vanished and the sky was as 
clear and as blue as their own sky at Avignon. 
The sun poured down its brilliance on the broad 
white dusty road. Beside them the Rhone went 
flashing southward, in such a hurry that it reflected 
only brokenly the poplars and willows on its 
banks and the mountains by which it was 
hemmed in. 

Jean Caritous was kept busy answering their 
eager questions, as church steeples came into sight 
over the treetops or as they caught glimpses 
across the river of snugly nooked little towns — 
Soyons, Etoile, Beauchastel, Cruas, Rochemaure, 
and at last Montelimar. They did not look back. 
Their eyes were set steadfastly and gladly south- 
ward. And everything was good that they saw. 
“Now here are house-roofs worth looking at!” 
exclaimed Lazuli. “ After the black roofs of Paris 
they are beautiful, these pink tiles!” And again 
and again, as some far-off row of cypresses or 
some flat mountain top rose square against the 
sky, the hope would rush into their hearts that 
they saw the Palace of the Popes at last. But 
Avignon and the Pope’s Palace still were more 
than two days’ march ahead of them. A night 
was to be passed at Montelimar and another at 
Pierrelatte. And then, if all went well, they 
would reach Avignon at the end of the third 
day. 

These last days seemed interminable. When 
they stopped at Montelimar, although the inn was 
a good one, they scarcely could eat or sleep be- 
cause of their eagerness to get on. jean humoured 
them by starting at daybreak, but when they got 
to Pierrelatte they were still more unreasonable — 


In tlie ^ixrbulent Soutl). 


373 


they did not want to stop at all! They were hot 
for going right on to Avignon, where Vauclair 
was waiting for them. 

But Jean, who knew that talking common sense 
about the horses being tired and needing rest and 
food would do no good, treated the matter diplo- 
matically. He fell back on his worst story of 
wolves and robbers, and said that he did not think 
it would be right to try to go by night through the 
forest of Mornasse! That was a reason to which 
Adeline and Lazuli were willing to listen. But 
even as an alternative to a forest full of wolves and 
robbers, it was with a very bad grace that they 
made their lodging in Pierrelatte for the night at 
the inn of Belle Femme-de-chambre. 

Long before jean was ready to start the next 
morning they were up and dressed and in the inn- 
yard to hurry him along. They were quite wild 
with delight. That very night they would sleep 
in Avignon — would see Vauclair! If Vauclair had 
got news of their coming, they said to each other, 
he certainly would be out on the road to meet 
them ; and, as they fancied him waving his arms 
as he ran toward them, their eyes filled with joy- 
ful tears. And then they thought of the peril of 
death that had been so near to them in Paris, of 
how close they had come to being taken in the 
snares set for them by La Jacarasse and Surto and 
Calisto; and a great thankfulness filled their hearts 
as they thought how it all at last was ended now 
that they were come again to their dear Avignon, 
where they would find only comfort and happi- 
ness and peace. Joyfully, thankfully, they stood 
up in the front of "the cart and watched eagerly 
for the first glimpse of the towering Palace of the 
Popes. 

Jean laughed at them. 


“You can’t see 


374 


(S:i)e terror. 


through rock,” he said. “Not a scrap of the 
Pope’s Palace is in sight until we round the hill of 
Chateau-neuf ” 

“Not until then!” sighed Adeline. “And 
yet the towers are so high! Oh how I wish I 
'was Mont Ventour! He is tall enough to see 
them. And perhaps at this very moment he sees 
Vauclair hurrying to meet us along the road ! ” 

But, as ill luck would have it, Vauclair was not 
hurrying to meet them. Day after day, for a 
whole month, he had come out each afternoon to 
look for them on the Lyons road. At last, only a 
few days before their coming, he had given up his 
expeditions quite in despair. He had no news of 
them, and Jean’s people in Avignon could give no 
explanation why the carrier was so long in coming: 
all that they or anybody else could say to comfort 
him was that dangers and accidents were many in 
those terribly bad times. 

Certainly, the dangers were many and the times 
bad in Avignon. Since the news had come of the 
King’s death only a few of the gates were open, 
and those few closely guarded, and the city was 
fairly under arms. For the City Council feared a 
rising on the part of the Aristocrats and Anti-Revo- 
lutionists and were watching those foes of the 
nation night and day. The least show of Royalist 
sympathy was rewarded with a stern punishment; 
and so far was this system of repression carried 
that a proclamation had been issued forbidding 
under pain of death the wearing of black or of 
any other sign of mourning. Not even for the 
closest relative was mourning permitted — lest under 
this shelter the mourner might be wearing black 
for the dead King. And so the prisons of Avignon 
were full, and many Aristocratic heads had fallen 


In tlie (Jnrbnlent 0outl). 


375 


under the guillotine that had been borrowed from 
the city of Nimes and set up in front of the Pope’s 
Palace — where had been the strapado and gallows 
of old times. 

The way things were going troubled and sad- 
dened Vauclair, and that he might have no part in 
them he had resigned from the National Guard and 
had gone back again to his plane and saw, work- 
ing steadily in his little shop in the Place du Grand 
Paradis at his honest trade. Good republican and 
good patriot though he was, and willing though 
he was to admit that this great severity was neces- 
sary to preserve the Liberty that had cost so much 
to win and that still was not entirely won, his 
heart was too tender to permit him to have a hand 
in it. When the houses of Aristocrats had to be 
searched, and when arrests had to be made of 
women and young girls and children, he had no 
stomach for the work. In the cries of these de- 
fenceless creatures it seemed to him that he heard 
the cries of his own Lazuli, and of Adeline and 
Clairet. If the country had to be saved that way 
he wanted somebody else to save it. And so he 
left the National Guard and went back to his shop; 
but with the firmly fixed determination to join the 
Guard again should there be any real fighting to be 
done. For Vauclair held fast by his love for Lib- 
erty, and was as ready as he ever had been to 
sacrifice for the Republic his own life. 

In a vague, obscure way this saddened man had 
an instinctive knowledge of the misfortunes which 
had fallen upon those whom he most loved, and 
so keen was his silent sorrow that it aroused a 
compassionate pity for him among his friends. 
Yet hope for a long while stood by him, and day 
after day he left his work in mid-afternoon and 
went to the house of Jean’s father to ask if any 


376 


(Jl)e terror. 


word had come from the carrier or promise of his 
return. Each day he had come back into his shop 
no wiser than he went out of it; and almost each 
day the news that came from Paris was worse and 
worse. He felt that he could not much longer 
stand the strain of this terrible anxiety, and the 
determination was formed in his mind that if the 
carrier did not come very soon he would set off on 
foot for Paris himself. 

But Vauclair’s doubts soon were to be set at 
rest. The cart of Jean Caritous with its cage of 
linnets came into Orange about midday, and after 
the travellers had eaten their dinner at the Inn of 
the Roman Arch they were off again quickly for 
Avignon. 

The travellers were wild with joy. In an hour, 
at farthest, they would see the longed-for Palace of 
the Popes. In their impatience they got down 
from the cart and ran on ahead of it, hoping at each 
turn in the road that they would see the Pope’s 
great towers. Adeline was leading, and as she 
rounded a point of rocks she cried out joyfully: “ I 
see them ! I see them ! ” 

Lazuli, as much of a child as Adeline, hurried to 
join her — and was taken all aback by seeing only a 
single tower, and that on a hilltop that did not 
look like Avignon at all. 

When jean came up and found them staring 
and wondering he laughed at them as he said: 
“Why, that’s ChMeauneuf du Pape — Avignon is 
on the other side of it, and a good two leagues 
farther on ! ” 

Adeline went on ahead again, a good deal crest- 
fallen ; but presently she gave another joyful cry. 

“ What is it ? Do you see them now ? ” Lazuli 
called out, and hurried again to join her. 


Jn tl)e turbulent Soutl). 


377 


But this time it was not a sight of Avignon that 
had set Adeline’s heart to beating gladly. “Oh 
look, Lazuli!” she cried. “Here is an almond 
tree in real bloom. 1 do believe that it has 
bloomed just to welcome us home! ” 

“No,” replied the more practical Lazuli, “to- 
day is Shrove-Tuesday, and the winter has been 
mild. But oh how good it is to see one of our 
own dear almond trees in bloom again ! ” And 
they both had tears in their eyes as they plucked 
for their breasts little bunches of these springtime 
blossoms of the South. 

The almond blossoms meant so much to them 
that they walked on together for a while in happy 
silence. And then Adeline stopped suddenly and 
said: “Hark! Don’t you hear something that 
sounds like the drums beating for a religious 
procession ? ” 

Lazuli stopped too and listened. “Yes, I do,” 
she said. “And that’s queer. I didn’t know 
that they had religious processions any more.” 

“It’s mighty queer,” said Jean. “Two months 
ago when I was coming through Sorgues they 
were hanging their cure. And, even if they hadn’t 
hung him, I don’t see what they’re doing with a 
religious procession on Shrove-Tuesday, the last 
day of Carnival.” 

By this time the cart was fairly in Sorgues, and 
there could be no doubt that the drums were beat- 
ing a religious march. It sounded like the pro- 
cession of the Fete-Dieu. But what still more 
puzzled the travellers was to hear yells and shouts 
and loud laughter and a great clapping of hands. 
And then they turned a corner — and the strange 
combination of noises was explained in a still 
stranger way! 

Up the street toward them was coming a bur- 


378 


(terror. 


lesque of the procession of the Fete-Dieu, so wild 
and so outrageous that it very well might have 
started from the infernal pit. At its head was a 
red-capped woman beating a drum. Following 
her came a cow, with the hanged cure’s biretta 
between her horns, his surplice across her back, 
and his stole over her tail. Following the cow 
came a long line of horses and mules fantastically 
tricked out in the garb of wjiite and black peni- 
tents and monks and nuns, with crosses and medals 
hung arc^und their necks and with birettas or mi- 
tres fastened over their long ears, while strapped 
to their backs were censers and candlesticks and 
holy water fonts. At the end of all, between two 
rows of goats dressed as choir boys and under a 
canopy borne by four masked men, came hobbling 
along an old lame ass — wearing over his long ears 
the Pope’s tiara, and having his body covered with 
the alb and stole and cope of glittering cloth of 
gold. To his back a monstrance was fastened, 
and in the crystal enclosure that should have held 
the consecrated wafer was a frog — kicking and 
jumping and smearing the clear crystal with its 
slime. Crowding around and following these in- 
nocently sacrilegious creatures came a wild mob of 
men and women, shouting and jeering and beating 
the beasts with their sticks and with their hands. 

Jean had drawn his cart to one side of the road 
to make way for this infernal procession; and 
Adeline and Lazuli, shuddering with horror, had 
watched it as it slowly went past — and were 
thankful when at last the street was clear again 
and they could go on. Already the sun was 
dropping away behind the poplars bordering the 
Rhone. 

•‘That procession has thrown us back badly,” 
jean said as he started the horses. 


In tl)c ®nrbuUnt Soutl). 


379 


“Don’t talk about it!” exclaimed Lazuli. 
“Heaven knows that 1 have a pretty poor opin- 
ion of priests — but it's another matter to have 
goings on like this!” 

“That’s true enough in a general way,” Jean 
answered, “ but you’ve got to remember that the 
cure here in Sorgues was a regular bad one, and 
hanging was just what he deserved. It was that 
old shave-pate who murdered my uncle — murdered 
him just as much as if he’d done it with his own 
hand! My uncle was a carrier, same as I am, and 
one day his cart got mired; and because it was 
badly mired, and he couldn’t get it out, he got to 
swearing a little — ^just as I’d be likely to do myself. 
Well, that old devil happened to come along and 
heard him; and what must he do but have him 
arrested, and taken to Avignon, and given the 
strapado and his tongue pierced with a hot iron. 
All that was done to my uncle on the Place du 
Palais, and at the end of it my uncle died! I can 
just tell you I felt good when I came through here 
on my up journey and found them hanging him ! 
I went up and gave him two good cuts with my 
whip that sent him spinning around like the spindle 
hanging from a woman’s hand! ” 

jean walked on in silence after telling this story, 
and while Lazuli did not perceive its precise bear- 
ing on the matter under discussion she held her 
peace — and, indeed, in this last stage of the jour- 
ney her heart was so filled with thoughts of her 
home-coming that she had no desire to talk. 

The horses, who were beginning to smell their 
mangers, went along briskly, but not nearly so 
briskly as the travellers desired. Already the sun 
was dropping behind the Hill of Justice on the 
western side of the Rhone, and in the river were 
reflected the golden and clear green tints of the 


380 


®lie ®mor. 


sunset sky — while against this dazzle of light and 
colour the towers of the Pope’s Palace stood out 
like bronze. And a long reach of road was still 
before them — stretching away through the forest 
of La Verdette — before they could come to the 
Porte Saint Lazare. 

Sometimes they would see far down the road a 
man coming toward them, and Adeline would cry: 
“Oh, there’s Vauclair! ” But always Lazuli would 
answer, after looking for a moment sharply: “No, 
that is not my Vauclair” — and would sigh a little 
with disappointment: and then smile with happi- 
ness at the thought that he really might be coming 
to meet them and that they might encounter him 
at the very next turn. 

But they did not meet him, and as they went 
onward the daylight waned. It was dusk when 
they passed through the suburb of the Synagogue, 
and as they came at last to the Porte Saint Lazare 
it was nearly dark. Their hearts beat hard as they 
saw the ramparts of Avignon rising above them 
dimly. It seemed almost as though they had 
reached the door of the little house in the Place du 
Grand Paradis, and that in another moment they 
would be in the arms of Vauclair. They said to 
each other that very likely he was inside' the city 
gate waiting for them. They were quite wilcl 
with joy! 

But Vauclair, sad and solitary, was working 
away with his saw and plane at home. That aft- 
ernoon he had made his daily hopeful inquiry for 
news of them and had got his daily hopeless answer. 
Then he had come back to the Place du Grand Pa- 
radis and with a heavy heart had settled again to 
his work. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


THE ARRIVAL AT AVIGNON. 

La-ga-di-ga-deu! went the whip of Jean Cari- 
tous as he approached the Porte Saint Lazare, and 
having given this signal for the gate to be opened 
he stopped his cart. 

But Lazuli and Adeline were too eagerly desir- 
ous of getting home to wait for the gate to be 
opened. They were out of the cart in a moment. 
“ We’II run on ahead, jean,” Lazuli said. “ We’ll 
come around for our bundles to-morrow, or per- 
haps to-night.” 

“ All right,” jean answered. “ I couldn’t take 
you home in the cart, anyway. I’ve got to stop 
in the Dyer’s street to unload. It’s only a step 
farther for you to walk from here. If you don’t 
come to-night I will bring your things around in 
the morning myself.” 

And so, while the big gates slowly were opened. 
Lazuli and Adeline took Clairet between them and 
entered by the wicket — and then off they went 
through the dark Rue de la Carreterie as hard as they 
could go. At long intervals a lantern was swung 
across the street ; but the lamps were dim, and from 
each came only a faint light that did no more than 
cast little gleams of brightness on the dirty water 
lying here and there in pools. They met no one. 
All the houses were shut up tight. Through the 
barred doors and windows there came neither 
25 381 


382 


terror. 


glints of light nor sound. The only break in the 
stillness was made by their running feet. The ut- 
ter silence sent through them little thrills of fear. 
But they pressed on resolutely until, just as they 
reached the Place de la Porte Matheron, they saw 
coming toward them a compact mass of men, and 
above the moving mass made out the gleam of 
bayonets. 

“ It must be the patrol,” said Lazuli. 

Will they harm us.^” Adeline asked, all of a 
tremble. 

“No, of course they won’t,” Lazuli answered. 
“ They will take care of us.” But she hur- 
ried still faster, that they might avoid a meeting 
with the soldiers by turning into the Place des 
Carmes. 

But the Sergeant of the patrol had caught sight 
of them, and his suspicions were started by seeing 
them obviously running away. In a moment he 
had his men on the double quick after them, and 
in another moment they were terror-stricken by 
finding themselves surrounded by soldiers and 
stopped as though they had been committing a 
crime. 

“I am the wife of Sergeant Vauclair,” Lazuli 
said, calling up all her strength and speaking firm- 
ly and resolutely. “ These are his children. We 
are going to our own house.” 

“ Very well,” the Sergeant answered. “ We’ll 
see about that. Bring them along to a light.” 
And Lazuli’s heart failed her a little, for the Ser- 
geant spoke thickly and most of the men seemed 
to be half drunk. 

At this order the soldiers caught the two women 
by the arms, grasping them so tightly that their 
coarse nails nipped into the delicate flesh, and 
dragged them along roughly until they came to 


(Slie ^rritjal at '^tiiQuon. 


3S3 


the lantern fixed against the tower of the Augus- 
tine Convent. There they stopped. 

“Where do you come from.^” the Sergeant 
asked. 

“From Paris,” Lazuli answered — and at that 
there was a burst of incredulous laughter. 

“ Where are you going ? ” 

“To my own house — the house of my hus- 
band, Vauclair.” 

“ 1 don’t know any Vauclair! ” 

“What! You don’t know Sergeant Vauclair 
of the National Guard ? ” Lazuli asked in real 
astonishment. 

“No, 1 don’t. We’re from Nimes, and we 
don’t know anybody in Avignon. But we do 
know that this town is a nest of Aristocrats and 
we’ve come to clean it out! ” 

“Sergeant, Sergeant! See here!” called the 
soldier who was holding Adeline. “ She’s dressed 
in mourning. And the little wretch is in mourn- 
ing for the Tyrant — look at these fleurs-de-lys in 
her lace! ” 

“ That settles it,” said the Sergeant. “ Off she 
goes to the Palace. General Jourdan will tell us 
what to do with this Aristocrat. As to you,” he 
added, turning to Lazuli, “you can go to your 
sergeant if you want to. Clear out with you!” 
And the patrol closed in around Adeline and 
dragged her away, more dead than alive, through 
the dirty streets toward the Palace — where the 
prisons were, and where were also the quarters of 
Jourdan Chop-head. 

But Lazuli was not to be got rid of in that way. 
Like a crazy woman she threw herself in front of 
the soldiers and wept and begged and prayed that 
they would let Adeline go; and when they went 
on without even answering her she seized Ade- 


3^4 


®I)c terror. 


line’s arm and tried to drag her from them. The 
men contented themselves with loosing her grasp 
and pushing her away. But at that, getting into 
a perfect fury, she fell to screaming and biting and 
scratching — until, at the Sergeant’s order to arrest 
her also, four men seized her and gagged her with 
her own fichu and then marched her off. 

In the stress of this struggle and excitement 
Clairet was forgotten. The soldiers who were 
dragging away Adeline and his mother vanished 
into the blackness of the Rue de la Saunerie and 
he was left alone in the dark empty street. He 
stood there sobbing piteously and calling “ Mama! 
Mama! ” But no friendly voice answered him, no 
one opened to him a friendly door. Presently, with- 
out thought of where he was going, he began to 
run — still sobbing and calling “Mama! Mama! ” 

His little feet trotted him across the Place des 
Carmes, and there he stopped again in the shelter 
of the church porch and seated himself on the 
stone steps. He was utterly tired out and hungry 
and cold. He leaned his little head against one of 
the stone pillars and fell into a drowse. But his 
sleep was light and did not last long. The mistral 
was rising, and the whirl of dead leaves from the 
elms that it sent whisking against his face wakened 
him. As he roused up he heard the rattle of a 
near-by drum. 

The roll of this drum had at once a familiar 
and a friendly sound to him. He remembered it 
very well indeed. It was the drum that every 
evening rattled away in front of the Patriots’ 
Club in the Place du Grand Paradis — the club to 
which his father belonged. Time and again he 
had gone to sleep, while his mother stood beside 
him, with that gay rattle sounding in his ears. 
When he heard it, there in the cold and darkness, 


(Jl)e ^rritJal at ^uignon. 


385 


it seemed almost as though it were his father’s 
voice calling to him. It comforted and soothed 
him. His crying ceased. 

And being thus calmed, his scattered little wits 
came back to him and he knew where he was. 
He recognized the church porch and the Place in 
front of it. He had played there with the other 
children of the quarter many a time. And, what 
was still better, he knew his way home. In a 
moment he was on his legs and was trotting along 
the Rue de la Palapharnerie — but oh, it was a 
black street of terror, and desperately long! Actu- 
ally it is a very short street, but it seemed to Clairet 
longer than all the road from Paris to Avignon. A 
shutter banged by the mistral filled him with dread. 
To his excited fancy the echo of his own little pat- 
tering footsteps was the tramp of a cruel man run- 
ning after him. It seemed to him that he never 
would get to the end of that black street at all ! 

But he had to comfort him the friendly rattle ot 
the drum. He was sure that the drum was call- 
ing him, and that kept up his courage and helped 
him to keep on. And then, suddenly, he reached 
the end of the street and came out on the Place du 
Grand Paradis — and there, right in front of him, 
was his own home! All was familiar to him. 
There was the workshop of his friend the potter, 
and the fishmonger’s shop, and the shop of the 
butcher who had “bled the noble”; and there 
was their own little house, and close to it the 
club with the drummer standing in front of it 
under the lantern beating away on his drum. All 
his strength came back to him. With a glad cry 
of “Papa! Papa!” he ran across the little Place 
and fell to pounding with his tiny fists against the 
door of his home. 

Vauclair dropped his plane in sheer astonish- 


386 


terror. 


ment as he recognized the voice of his child. In 
an instant he had flung the door open and had 
caught up the little boy in his arms. 

“Clairet, Clairet! My little Clairet!” he ex- 
claimed. “Where’s mother.?^ Where on earth do 
you come from ? Ah, my own little son ! ” 

But the strain had been too much for the child. 
As he found himself safe at last in his father’s arms 
he gave only a little inarticulate cry and then fell 
away in a swoon. 

Vauclair was quite distracted. “ What does it 
mean ? What can have happened ? ” he cried as 
he laid Clairet on the work-bench among the shav- 
ings and kissed his white cheeks. “Tell me, 
Clairet! Tell me what has happened.?” He ran 
to the door and called out wildly : ‘ ‘ Lazuli ! Lazuli ! 
Help! Help!” — and then to Clairet again and 
caught him up and kissed him and held him tight 
to his breast. 

In a moment the workshop was full of people, 
as his neighbours and his friends of the club came 
running in to find out what was the matter. But 
Vauclair could explain nothing. All that he knew 
was that his child had suddenly appeared alone. 
Clairet certainly could not have come alone from 
Paris; but of his mother or of Adeline or of Jean 
Caritous, Vauclair knew nothing at all. 

Some of the men fell to rubbing Clairet’ s little 
legs and arms to bring life back into him, and then 
a woman came with a little cup of brandy and got 
a drop or two between the child’s lips. Presently 
Clairet opened his eyes again, and as his con- 
sciousness returned he recognized his father and 
put out toward him his little arms. But the only 
word that he spoke was “ Mama! ” 

“ Where is mama ? ” cried the bewildered Vau- 
clair. 


®l)e *^rdual at "Aiiignon. 


387 


“Adeline,” said Clairet. 

“Yes, Adeline. Where is she? Is she with 
mama ?” 

“ The soldiers.” 

“Soldiers I What had soldiers to do with 
them ?” 

“ The soldiers took mama and Adeline to 
prison.” 

“ But that cannot be, my little Clairet. The 
soldiers would not take mama to prison. Try to 
think, now, and tell papa just what has happened. 
Where did you leave mama?” 

But here one of the men belonging to the club 
intervened, before Clairet could answer. “The 
child is quite right,” the man said, “and it makes 
clear what I saw just now on the Place du Palais. 
As 1 was crossing the Place I saw a patrol taking 
two women into the Palace. Very likely one of 
them was your wife.” 

“My wife at the Palace! Am I, Vauclair, to 
see my wife taken to prison? Fd like to know 
who would dare touch my Lazuli! ” — and as Vau- 
clair spoke he glanced up fiercely at his musket 
hanging among his saws and planes. 

“Well, it may all be a mistake,” said the 
man. “The patrol that had charge of the 
women was made up of those fellows from 
Nimes.” 

“Those brutes from Languedoc!” exclaimed 
Vauclair. “As if we needed their help to look 
after the Aristocrats and keep order in Avignon ! 
Fll give them something to look after! I’ll go to 
General Jourdan this very minute and give him to 
know who I am ! ” and as Vauclair spoke he caught 
up Clairet in his arms and ran out of the house and 
toward the Palace as hard as he could go. A half 
dozen or more of his friends ran after him. And 


388 


® error. 


they were not fair-weather friends. If he needed 
it, they were ready to give him help. 

The great iron-barred door of the Palace was 
closed for the night when they came to it. In re- 
sponse to Vauclair’s sounding knock the sentinel 
called out sharply: “Qui vive 

“Sergeant Vauclair,” came the answer, in a 
voice fairly choking with rage. 

The sentinel held up his lantern and peeped out 
between the bars. He wished to assure himself 
that he was not dealing with a company of armed 
Aristocrats, come to deliver the prisoners or to 
assassinate General Jourdan. But when he saw 
the good Republican Vauclair, standing there in 
his joiner’s apron in the midst of a little group of 
equally good Republicans all wearing red cock- 
ades, he hurried to draw the bolts and open the 
door. 

Vauclair rushed in like a whirlwind. But his 
friends did not rush in with him. The door was 
clapped to on their noses and they were left to 
storm and swear outside. Without knowing or 
caring that he was cut off from his support, Vau- 
clair ran across the courtyard of the Palace with 
his little boy in his arms. He knew every turn 
and twist in the huge building, and went with a 
resolute assurance directly up the winding stair 
facing the main entrance and in a moment stood 
at the door of General Jourdan’s room. Inside, 
Chop-head was seated at a table writing out the 
list of the prisoners who were to be sent the next 
day to the guillotine. Almost before he knew that 
any one had entered, Vauclair was beside him de- 
manding fiercely: “Citizen Jourdan! what have 
you done with my wife and child ? ” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


JOURDAN CHOP-HEAD. 

In an instant General Jourdan had dropped his 
pen and seized his pistols, and in another instant a 
detachment of the guard that hurriedly had fol- 
lowed Vauclair from the courtyard had entered 
the room — their muskets in hand and their swords 
clanking on the stone floor. But as the General 
recognized in Vauclair a good Federal, whom he 
had known as a sergeant in the Marseilles Battalion, 
he laid down his pistols and motioned to the guard 
to retire. 

“What do you want, Citizen Vauclair.?” he 
asked as the: door closed behind the soldiers and 
they were alone. 

“ I want you to give back to me my wife and 
my child.” 

“1 told your wife she was free to go to you, 
but she refused to leave the young Aristocrat who 
was arrested in her company. It is her own look- 
out if she would rather be locked up in prison than 
go freely to her own house.” 

“The young Aristocrat, as you call her, is my 
adopted child. You must give her to me with my 
wife.” 

“The girl is wearing mourning for the Tyrant. 
There can be no mistake about it. Her black lace 
is woven in fleurs-de-lys. You know the decree 
of the Avignon municipality as well as I do, Vau- 

389 


390 


®l]e terror. 


clair. The penalty for wearing mourning for the 
King is death.” 

“And 1 tell you that my child cannot be wear- 
ing mourning for the King. 1 demand that you 
give her up to me.” 

“That girl is not your child. She is an Aristo- 
crat.” 

“1 have adopted her. She is a child of the 
people, as 1 am. 1 found her in trouble — left alone 
with neither father nor mother. My wife and 1 
took her to our hearts. 1, Vauclair, am responsible 
for her and for her life before man and before 
God!” 

“Vauclair, 1 want heads for my guillotine. I 
don’t see why 1 shouldn’t take yours.” 

“If you did you’d be a scoundrel and a mur- 
derer — the ‘Chop-head’ that people call you.” 

“Well, I’m not the ‘Chop-head’ that people 
call me. But you, Vauclair, are — a liar! You are 
serving the cause of the Tyrant, you are betray- 
ing the Republic. Take care! My guillotine is 
thirsty! Three days have passed since her sharp 
jaws dripped blood ! ” 

“ Citizen Jourdan, you know that Vauclair has 
never lied.” 

“ Hush, you impudent fellow! Suppose some 
one is listening.^” Jourdan rose and opened the 
door softly and looked out into the corridor. Hav- 
ing thus assured himself against listeners he closed 
the door, and coming close to Vauclair said in a low 
voice; “All the same, you did lie when you told 
me that girl was a child of the people. You know 
perfectly well that she is the daughter of a hater 
and starver of the people— the ci-devant Marquis 
d’Ambrun; that she is the sister of Robert d’Am- 
brun, who was fighting on the side of the King 
that day in Paris when your own Marseilles Bat- 


Scritrban (iri)o:p-[)eab. 


391 


talion took the Castle by storm. And this slip of 
a girl, this young Aristocrat, has made light of our 
municipal ordinance by dressing herself in mourn- 
ing and wearing fleurs-de-lys. If she is put on 
trial, as she deserves to be, she certainly will be 
condemned to death. 

“ And should 1 justify my name of ‘ Chop-head ’ 
by doing my whole duty, Vauclair, you also, and 
your wife along with you, would go before the 
courts on the charge of harbouring an Aristocrat. 
You know what that would mean. Your head 
would be just about as steady on your shoulders as 
an over-ripe fig on its branch. 

“ But I have a good memory, and 1 know who 
are the real friends of the people and who are the 
shams — and 1 know who are my own friends, too. 
You are one of my friends, Vauclair, and 1 remem- 
ber very well how much 1 owe to you. After the 
affair of La Glaciere — for which 1 was blamed so 
bitterly and so unjustly — it was you who saved my 
child from the hands of the two Aristocrats who 
would have killed him. Because of that which 
you then did for me, 1 will now do what you ask. 
Have no farther fear. This young girl and your 
wife shall be set free.” 

Vauclair’s distress at having told a lie was 
stronger than his gratitude. “Jourdan, it is the 
first lie that ever 1 told,” he said confusedly. “1 
told it in sheer pity — and I knew that telling it 
could do the Nation no harm.” 

“We’ll say no more about it,” Jourdan an- 
swered, “and we’ll forget that ever it was spoken. 
And now go and tell your friends that your wife is 
in no danger and is to be released to you — and then 
get rid of them and go and wait alone at the pos- 
tern gate of Saint Ann, back on the stairway up 
from the Rue de la Banasterie. In a little while I 


392 


0^1) e (terror. 


myself will bring to meet you there your wife and 
the young girl.” 

In silence the two men held each other’s hands 
for a moment, and then Vauclair — carrying on his 
arm the drowsily bewildered Clairet — left the room 
and went down the winding stair and across the 
courtyard and out by the iron-barred door. “ My 
wife is to be released. It is all right again,” he 
said to his waiting friends. His voice, usually so 
clear and ringing, was hoarse and low; and his 
head, usually held high, was bowed. But he of- 
fered no explanations and evidently desired to be 
alone. It was plain that something out of the 
common had happened in the course of his inter- 
view with General Jourdan; but as he obvious- 
ly was bent on keeping the matter to himself 
his friends respected his silence and went their 
way. 

Being quit of them, Vauclair set off as though 
for his own house. But when he reached the Rue 
de la Banasterie he did not take the turn to the 
right into the Rue Sainte Catherine. Slipping 
along like a cat through the darkness, he went on 
toward the church of the Black Penitents and did 
not stop until he found himself beneath the great 
tower of Trouillas and before the postern door on 
the stairway of Saint Ann. 

The mistral whistled shrilly as it leaped across 
the ramparts and was caught in the clefts of the 
rocks beneath the tower — and thence rebounding 
blew this way and that in cold whirlwinds. Vau- 
clair held Clairet’s chilled little hands in his own 
and tried to warm them with his breath, and 
pressed close into the low doorway — but more that 
he might be hidden from the sight of a chance 
wayfarer than for shelter from the wind. The 
need for concealment confused and shamed him. 


Sourban QIl)op-l)eab. 


393 


It was the first time in his life that he had done 
anything which he had to hide. 

As he stood there in the darkness, waiting for 
the coming of his wife and Adeline in the care of 
Jourdan Chop-head, he heard a murmur of voices 
from the near-by windows of the prison — tears and 
sighs at first, and then heart-broken prayers. A 
man’s voice, a deep bass, intoned the “Miserere”; 
then a young girl or a child, a voice clear and 
sweet, recited the prayer for the dying beginning, 
“Depart from this world. Oh Christian soul!” 
and then the mingled voices of men and women 
chanted the litanies for the dead. The black wind, 
blowing bitterly, at times caught away these sad 
voices so that they seemed to come from a long 
way off; and at other times an eddy of the wind 
would gather up the voices and pour them clearly 
into his ears — so that it seemed to him as though 
all these poor creatures were closing around him 
and in their sore strait were praying him to deliver 
them. 

A great pity filled his kind heart. He asked 
himself if it were just or meet to hold these women, 
these girls, these old men, thus moaning through 
the black night in prison until morning should 
bring them to a cruel death beneath the guillotine. 
Surely the Republic could not need the sacrifice of 
such lives as these! It seemed to him that his 
duty commanded him to listen to the prayers of 
these prisoners, and at any cost to himself to try 
to set them free. 

And then the counter thought came to him that 
the creatures groaning there were wives and daugh- 
ters of Aristocrats — women who, in their wild pas- 
sion of loyalty, had done all in their power to stop 
the march of the Revolution and to stifle the new 
Nation’s life. It was these very women who had 


394 


®l)c ®crr0r. 


hidden in their houses deserters from the army of 
the frontier; who had sheltered and concealed those 
Anti-Patriots who had stolen and thrown into the 
Rhone the seven barrels of powder which the Na- 
tion was sending to the army of the Pyrenees. 
These women were the wretches who had dragged 
the cartridges from between the teeth of the Re- 
public’s soldiers who were fighting back the for- 
eign armies from the frontiers of France. No! 
They were not worth pity! And Vauclair, shut- 
ting’ his ears to the sobs and prayers of the prison- 
ers, straightened himself up and walked backward 
and forward rapidly, with anger burning in his 
heart. 

Suddenly the voices were hushed, and then 
came the sound of bolts withdrawn and of the 
opening of a door. In a moment Vauclair was 
back at the postern — and in another moment he 
was clasped close in his Lazuli’s arms! 

“Vauclair!” “Lazuli!” “Adeline!” “Clai- 
ret!” — they all cried together. And then they 
hurried down the steps and homeward through 
the black streets, not attempting to speak cohe- 
rently but resting satisfied with exclamations of 
joy. 

Not until they all were sheltered safely in the 
little house in the Place du Grand Paradis, and had 
gone through another whirlwind of embraces, did 
real talking begin — and then the talk went at white 
heat while Lazuli and Adeline poured out the story 
of their misfortunes and adventures among their 
enemies, and of their rescue at last by their friends. 

Vauclair listened to this narrative — and very 
frequently broke in upon it — with a raging aston- 
ishment. Could it be possible, he asked furiously, 
that such dogs as Surto and Calisto could get the 
right to arrest patriots’ wives and shut them up in 


J^oltr^ran ^Iiap-liealr. 


395 


prison ? What good had the Marseilles men done 
by going up to Paris ? — and why had they come 
away so soon ? What was the Convention about ? 
What was Danton doing? Where was Barba- 
roux ? 

“Oh Sarnipabieune! ” he shouted, bringing 
his fist down on the table with a bang. “ We’ve 
got to go back there and set things in order, and 
to see that things are kept in order afterward! 
We won’t be only five hundred this time. We’ll 
be five thousand, fifty thousand, five hundred 
thousand! The whole South will march to Paris 
sword in hand! We’ll prune and straighten the 
Tree of Liberty, and we’ll cleanse it of the vermin 
of Aristocrats and Anti-patriots who are killing it 
before our eyes! ” 

“Don’t bother your head so about the Pari- 
sians,” said Lazuli. “If they choose to be led by 
the nose by Aristocrats and Anti-patriots, why let 
them be led. It’s their own lookout.” 

“ It isn’t their own lookout,” Vauclair retorted. 
“The next thing they’ll be bringing in Germans 
and Austrians and filling the country with for- 
eigners. Don’t you know that folks are beginning 
to say that General Dumouriez is ripe for treason ? 
If the very generals at the head of our army are 
getting to be traitors what hope is there for Liberty 
and our Republic ? France will be bound hand 
and foot and sold to our enemies — and we poor 
worms of the earth will be at the mercy of the 
nobles again ! ” 

“Surely it was with this General Dumouriez 
that Pascalet went to the frontier,” said Adeline. 
“ William the Patriot and Planchot told me so.” 

“Well, I hope so,” Vauclair grumbled. “Thafs 
one good soldier at least who won’t let himself be 
sold by traitors.” 


396 


®iie S^error. 


While Vauclair had been storming away La- 
zuli and Adeline had been setting the table for 
supper. “Do you mean to say,” laughed Lazuli, 
“that all you have in the house beside bread is 
this bowl of cracked olives and this little jar of 
potted cheese.^ Goodness, what creatures men 
are! ” 

“Well, you see,” Vauclair explained, “I 
haven’t cared much about eating this past month or 
so. Generally, when 1 got through work in the 
afternoon 1 just stuck a bit of bread in my pocket 
and chewed away at it as 1 walked out on the 
Lyons road. Of course, if I’d known you were 
coming to-night I’d have got in something to eat. 
And 1 must say I’m glad you feel like eating after 
the fright you’ve had.” 

‘ ‘ After just the first, ” said Adeline, ‘ ‘ we weren’t 
so badly frightened. At least, not till we found 
after we got into the prison that Clairet was not 
with us. And Lazuli was not as much worried 
about that as I was. She said that he’d certainly 
find his way home, and that leaving him that way 
really was a good thing because it would let you 
know that we’d come.” 

And then they fell to on the brown bread and 
the potted cheese and the cracked green olives; as 
they ate they chattered away about all the pleasant 
things they would do in this dear Avignon — where 
there were no Surtos nor Calistos and where, in- 
stead of the gloom and dullness of Paris, every- 
thing was bright and gay. And while they were 
talking, late though it was, they heard faintly the 
squeaking of galouhets and the buzzing of tam- 
bourins. 

“Can it be possible that they are farandoling 
at this hour of the night } ” asked Adeline. 

“Of course they are,” Vauclair answered. 


Jourban Qri)op-l)eab. 


397 


“Since we’ve been revolutionizing we’ve had 
more farandoles than ever we had before.” 

“ Hush! ” said Adeline. “ I hear singing. It’s 
‘ La Marseillaise.’ ” 

“If it’s ‘La Marseillaise,’” said Lazuli, “that 
means that the Club is out.” 

“ What is the Club ? ” Adeline asked. 

“ It's the Patriot Club, you know — patriots 
who meet every evening to talk over the affairs 
of the Nation and to hear the news. At the end 
of the meeting, before saying good-night, they 
sing ‘La Marseillaise.’ And when they come to 
the last verse they always go down on one knee 
and sing it bareheaded. I used to go every night, 
and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’ll 
begin to go again, now; and some time I’ll take 
you along. 

“ But what we’ve all got to do now is to go to 
bed. And I must tell you, my pretty little Countess, 
that you’ll have to sleep on a straw mattress along 
with^Clairet — ^just as Pascalet did. You’ll find it 
pretty hard. I’m afraid.” 

“Oh what fun!” cried Adeline clapping her 
hands. “ And you say that Pascalet slept that 
way with Clairet too ?” 

“ Yes, he had to. We couldn’t bed him, any 
more than we can bed you, anywhere else. But 
come, we mustn't only talk about bed, we must 
go to it. Just look at Clairet fast asleep on the 
table! Move gently, Vauclair, don’t wake him 
up.” 

Lazuli herself, light as a bird, moved around 
the room on tiptoe, clearing away 'the supper- 
table and setting the house in order for the night. 
This work being finished, she made up the bed in 
the little inner room— beating well the straw 
mattress and spreading it with clean sheets, and 
26 


393 


®I)e QLexxot. 


laying over the sheets all the warm coverings that 
she could find — for the mistral was making itself 
felt sharply. In a jiffy she had Clairet undressed 
and in bed, and then helped Adeline otf with the 
black frock that so nearly had been fatal to them. 
“ To-morrow I’ll lend you my red and yellow 
Sunday fichu,” she said. “And when you get 
that on, and a red cockade in your coif, the pa- 
triots won’t go to frowning when they look at you. 
How in the world could we have known it was 
forbidden to wear black 

Adeline, tired out after her long day of travel 
and her fright, slipped into her little bed thank- 
fully. It seemed to her, with its coarse sheets 
which smelt so sweet and clean, the most delight- 
ful bed that ever she had slept in. It was a pleas- 
ure to her to have Clairet beside her to watch over 
through the night. In that way she could help 
Lazuli a little. And she longed to help Lazuli — to 
manifest in every way possible to those who had 
been so good to her the love and the gratitude that 
were in her tender little heart. 

Lazuli, on her side, was filled with joy that at 
last under her own roof she had Adeline safe. 
She fussed about the bed, plumping the pillow 
and rearranging the coverings, trying to make the 
child more comfortable — and then ran off to the 
press in her own room and brought thence in tri- 
umph, for an extra covering, 'Vauclair’s big uni- 
form coat of the National Guard. “There,” she 
said, as she spread it over Adeline, “now you 
certainly will not be cold.” 

She could not think of anything more to do, 
of any farther way in which she could pour out 
upon Adeline her wealth of warm mother-love. 
She bent over the two children and kissed them. 
Tears were in her eyes, and in Adeline’s eyes too; 


lour^an (fl 1) op- 1) cab. 


•399 


but they were tears of happiness and content. 
Since they had known each other, this was their 
first wholly peaceful and happy hour. And then, 
presently — to the faint sound of pipes squeaking 
and drums buzzing for the end of Carnival — Ade- 
line fell asleep softly, smiling at the angels and her 
heart full of a calm joy. 


CHAPTER XL. 


THE FREEING OF THE JEWS. 

The next morning Adeline began her new life 
with a change in her costume that delighted her. 
Her hair was dressed in peasant fashion, and on 
her head she wore a little pique cap — a catalaue, 
as it was called — with flying strings. A neatly 
folded fichu outlined her pretty slender figure, and 
her frock was covered with a white apron em- 
broidered around the edge in pointed scallops. 
Pinned fast to her cap, and this pleased her most 
of all, was a red white and blue cockade. 

When her dressing was finished, and she was 
brought out into the kitchen to be exhibited, 
Lazuli and Vauclair could not take their eyes off 
her, nor could they say enough in praise of her 
good looks. Adeline would have been well pleased 
to have had a look at herself in her simple finery. 
But the household was too poor to possess a mir- 
ror, and she had to be content with the glimpse 
that she could get of herself in one of the little 
window-panes. 

When the housekeeping work of the morning 
was finished, in which she insisted on having a 
share, she and Lazuli, taking Clairet with them, 
went out for a joyful walk. All over Avignon, 
the beautiful city full of laughing faces, they went 
together. In spite of the Revolution — of the fight 
between Reds and Whites, of the shootings and 
400 


®l)c freeing of tl)e Senjs. 


401 


hangings, of the awful guillotine standing on the 
Place du Palais — the people were kindly and the 
town was overrunning with fun. It was all the 
gayer that day because it was Ash Wednesday — 
and in Provence the custom obtains of making a 
feast out of this fast. There were farandoles 
everywhere, the streets were full of absurdly 
dressed mummers, and each Quarter was burning 
its own straw-stuffed Carmentran. That year all 
the Carmentrans were made to look like Louis 
Capet, and all had crowns of fleur-de-lys on their 
silly stuffed heads. From the , Place Pie to the 
Porte Materoun, and from Saint Roch to the Porte 
du Rhone, everywhere these Royalist Carmentrans 
were being tried and condemned to the flames. 

But any stranger coming to Avignon and expect- 
ing to find the churches closed — as they were else- 
where in France — would have been disappointed. 
The canons, wearing red vestments, sang vespers 
every evening at Notre Dame des Dorns. In all 
the parish churches, just as usual, the priests said 
mass — only over their vestments they wore tri- 
colour scarfs. I have heard it said that one canon 
preached with a Liberty cap on his head. And 
there were religious processions, too, on Sundays 
and on feast days; and almost al ways Jourdan Chop- 
head walked in these processions, along with his 
uniformed gendarmes. Only two churches in Avi- 
gnon changed with the times: the church of Saint 
Pierre, that was given over to the worship of the 
Holy Mountain and the Goddess of Reason, and 
the church of Saint Didier, that was used as a 
prison for Aristocrats. Yet even to the church of 
Saint Pierre the priests came and said mass on the 
altar of the Holy Mountain, although a pike on the 
altar carried the tri-colour and had a Liberty cap 
on its point above the flag. 


402 


®l)c terror. 


The walk through the gay little city was a de- 
light to Adeline and Lazuli after their dreary 
months in dismal Paris; and so were the walks 
which they took day after day. No sooner was 
the housework finished than out they would go 
into the lively streets; and always, wherever they 
went, they found some sort of frolic going on. 
Avignon! Ah that was a place to live in indeed! 

Sometimes, as they passed through the Rue de 
la Violette, Adeline would knock at the door of 
her old home — in the fond hope that some one 
would open to her and perhaps give her news of 
her mother. But the house was empty and the 
door remained closed. When he saw how things 
were going with the Aristocrats, the porter left in 
charge of the house had locked his door be- 
hind him, thrust the keys back through the cat- 
hole, and had taken himself off no one knew 
where. Adeline would turn away from that closed 
door with tears in her eyes and in her heart a 
heavy sadness; but peace would come back to 
her, if not happiness, when she came again to the 
little house in the Place du Grand Paradis where 
she had found the loving-kindness of a true home. 
The days went pleasantly for her in that little 
house. By the neighbours she was spoken of as 
Clairet’s cousin, and her sweet gentleness made 
her loved by them all. 

Vauclair worked hard at his trade, as he had 
to in order to support his little family; but he kept 
careful track of public affairs. Every night he 
went to his club, to hear the news from Paris and 
from the armies fighting on the frontier. Things 
were not going to suit him at all. His blood 
would boil when he heard how the members of 
the Convention — instead of uniting against the 
enemies of the Nation — were fighting among 


®I}e irrmng of tl}e JfetDS. 


403 


themselves;^ and he would wonder whether it 
were not his duty to put aside his joiner’s tools 
and once again take up his sword. 

But these angry moods would pass and he 
would be himself again, kindly and cheerful, as he 
saw and was comforted by the happiness of his 
wife and his little boy and Adeline. The two 
children were inseparable playmates; and Vau- 
clair and Lazuli made no difference between the 
two in their love. In their talks together they 
would say sadly that perhaps some day Adeline 
must be parted from them ; and this fear of losing 
her made them take her still more closely to their 
hearts. 

One evening Vauclair came home much later 
than usual from the club. ‘ ‘ There must be news, ” 
Lazuli said as he entered. 

‘‘Yes there is, both good and bad. The good 
news is that the Convention has issued a wise 
decree.” 

“What is it 

“That Jews shall have the same rights as other 
citizens — that they may dress as they please, and 
shall have equal rights with all other citizens be- 
fore the law.” 

“Well,” said Lazuli, “that’s a good piece of 
work well done! That’s the end of the horrible 
doings on Good Friday in the churches, when the 
Jews are slapped in the face! ” 

“What is that ” Adeline asked. “I never 
heard of it. There were no Jews, you know, at 
Malemort.” 

“It was the cruelest thing you ever saw,” 
Lazuli answered. “The one time I saw it I nearly 
fainted away. It was a regular ceremony every 
year, and it began on Holy Thursday. On Holy 


404 


QL[\c terror. 


Thursday, in each parish church, the cure used to 
come down from the altar followed by the choir 
and go and stand in the main doorway. Outside 
there always was a crowd — men and women and 
children, all with rattles in their hands. Every- 
body would stand perfectly still, and then the cure 
would call out in a loud voice the name of the Jew 
or the Jewess who was to come the next day to the 
church and receive before the crucifix the atoning 
slap of shame. And as soon as the name was 
called out all the rattles would be clattered together, 
and off would go the crowd to hoot and yell and 
rattle before that Jew’s door. 

“All night long they used to keep up that 
racket, and at dawn the beadle of the parish with 
four halberdiers would come to fetch the Jew away. 
The beadle would knock, and the poor Jew always 
hurried to open the door himself, and then off they 
took him — his hands tied like a robber, ashes 
sprinkled all over him, and his feet bare. They 
took him to the parish church, and there he waited 
till the moment came of the Elevation in the mass. 
Then the cure would turn toward the door and 
cry out: ‘ Christ is dead ! Let the Jew who cruci- 
fied him enter here! ’ 

“Then the poor Jew was marched in — with 
three old women with brooms following close be- 
hind him and sweeping away the taint of his foot- 
steps — and was led before the figure of Christ that 
is kissed by the people in Holy Week,- and there 
made to kneel. Then a porter — always the strap- 
pingest, strongest fellow they could find down on 
the wharves — stepped up to him and gave him 
three tremendous buffets on his cheeks. He struck 
as hard as he could, and very often the poor Jew — 
if he were weak or old — would be stunned and 
knocked flat on the stones. 


(Jlie iTreeing of tl)c Jfcttjg. 


405 


‘•'Then he would be set on his feet again and 
led away, stumbling, falling, with all the Christians 
following him and jeering him and spitting on him 
— while the three old women, sweeping hard so 
that nothing should remain where the sole of his 
foot had been, worked away behind him with 
their brooms. As soon as he was out of the church 
he was allowed to go free to his house — with all 
the children around him with their rattles, and 
with men and women hooting him, and people 
upstairs in their houses emptying out from their 
windows on him their dirtiest slops.” 

“ And you could see that frightful sight and not 
say anything ? ” exclaimed Adeline, all a-quiver 
with indignation. 

“ 1 only saw it once, child,” Lazuli answered, 
“and 1 can tell you I never wanted to see it 
again ! ” 

“You haven’t told,” said Vauclair, “how every 
year, as Easter came near, the Jews sent presents 
to the parish priests; and how the Jews chosen 
always were those who had sent the smallest 
offerings.” 

“Yes, I forgot about that, ” said Lazuli. ‘ ‘ They 
say that nearly all the holy vessels of gold and sil- 
ver, and the richest vestments, came that way from 
the rich Jews.” 

“But surely,” said Adeline, “it would be 
wicked for the priests to accept such things from 
people who are accursed of God.” 

“My dear little girl,” Lazuli answered drily, 
“when you are older you will know that bad 
smells do not cling to silver or gold! ” 

“Well,” said Vauclair, “it’s high time that a 
custom like that should be put a stop to — and it is 
to be put a stop to, along with a good deal more. 
To-morrow the city councillors will break the 


4o6 


®l)c (terror. 


chains which shut in the Jewry, and there will be 
no more wearing of yellow caps and yellow badges 
from this time on." 

“Then to-morrow there will be a grand festi- 
val in the Jewry, 1 suppose," said Lazuli, prick- 
ing up her ears at the thought of more frolicking 
and nodding her head knowingly at Adeline and 
Clairet. 

“It will be a festival all over the city," Vau- 
clair answered. “Cannon will be fired up on 
the Rock, and in the Place du Palais there is 
to be a grand feast given by the liberated Jews — 
bread and wine for everybody and an ox roasted 
whole.” 

At this Lazuli clapped her hands and exclaimed : 
“Well now, wc are going to have something 
worth seeing ! Why didn’t you come home earlier 
from the Club and tell us about it ? It’s ever so late 
now — and yet we’ve got to be up early if we want 
to see all the fun. Come, children, get away to the 
straw! " And Lazuli bustled the little company off 
to bed in a hurry, and presently all of them were 
asleep except Vauclair. 

Vauclair was wakeful because he was uneasy. 
He had not told the rest of the news that he had 
heard at the Club that evening. Word had come 
that there was talk of putting Barbaroux, that brave 
and honest Republican, on trial for treason; that 
the sans-culottes of Paris had placed a wreath on 
the head of the despicable Marat and had carried 
him in triumph to the Convention with shouts of 
“ Long live the Friend of the People! The Giron- 
dists to the Guillotine! " And there was a rumour 
that Marat and Robespierre and Pache, the Mayor 
of Paris, were holding secret meetings in a chateau 
near Charenton, and were conspiring to bring the 
Republicans of La Gironde to the scaffold and to 


^[)c iTrceing of tl)c Ictus. 


407 


place the little son of Louis Capet on the upraised 
throne. 

These rumours caused grave anxiety to the men 
of the South. That South which always had kept 
alive her flame of Liberty, and that in the dark ages 
— herself lettered and civilized — had sent up to the 
North her own passion and enthusiasm for all that 
is noble and generous; for all that makes for liberty 
of spirit and beauty of thought and the dignity of 
man. It was in those dark ages that the South 
had laid the foundations of the Revolution. Had it 
not been for the accursed crusade preached by the 
Monk of Citeaux, the crusade that was led by 
Montfort the pillager, the Revolution would have 
come six hundred years sooner. It was the North, 
with its bastard German blood, that kept France in 
the thick darkness of a night that lasted for six 
centuries — not the South, with its glorious Greek 
and Roman grafts! 

And so this news from Paris threw all the South 
into a ferment. From Marseilles to Lyons, and 
from Toulon to Bordeaux, every voice was raised 
in outcry against the threatened wrong; and there 
was an ominous stir of men assembling to present 
to the Parisians the one argument that they were 
capable of understanding — the argument of armed 
force ! 

It was no wonder that Vauclair, wide-eyed and 
wakeful, tumbled and tossed in his bed as he lay 
thinking of these things — about which he would 
not speak to Lazuli until his mind was made up as 
to his duty. When he had decided to join the 
Marseilles force that was to march to Paris it 
would be time enough to tell her about the fresh 
parting that must come. 

But he slept at last, and when they all rose in 
the early morning he was as bright and as cheerful 


4o8 


QL\)c 


as ever, and Lazuli had no thought of the turmoil 
and struggle that had filled his mind. He was in 
no mood, however, for taking part in a festival. 
With the excuse that the work which he had in 
hand must be finished in a hurry, he went straight 
to his bench — while Lazuli and Adeline and Clairet, 
three children together, ran off through the Avi- 
gnon streets to see the deliverance of the Jews. 

Music and cannon! Drums and tambonrins! 
All were going at once! People were dancing 
rounds and farandoles everywhere, jews and 
Christians kissed and embraced each other and 
walked together arm in arm. Some of the Jews 
went into the churches, and priests even entered 
the synagogues. Everywhere was merry-making 
and good will — and the sight-seers were in real 
trouble because they could not see everything at 
once! 

The great farandole came whirling along — a 
farandole the like of which never had been seen! 
Heading it were a Rabbi and a Canon from Notre 
Dame des Dorns — and it stretched away from the 
Porte Saint Lazare to the Place de f Horloge. Chris- 
tians and Jews were all mixed up in it and kicked 
and capered away together. And what was still 
more wonderful, the Christian men had stuck on 
their heads the Jews’ yellow caps and the Christian 
women were wearing the yellow badges of the 
Jewesses. That great farandole wound in and out 
all over Avignon, and came to an end at last on the 
Place du Palais — where in the midst of rejoicing 
shouts the chains of the Jewry were broken and 
the Jewry gates burned in a great bonfire. It was 
the maddest, gayest day of rejoicing that even Avi- 
gnon ever had seen ! 


CHAPTER XLI. 


WOLVES EAT WOLVES. 

There was ample cause for Vauclair’s anxiety. 
The storm- that was bursting over Paris already 
was rushing downward upon the South. So far 
from allaying the tempest of the Revolution, the 
death of Capet had been the sowing of the wind 
by which the whirlwind was unloosed. 

The King being dead, the rabble paid by the 
Aristocrats or moved by self-interest to stir up 
anarchy — scum like Surto and Calisto, who had 
robbed and then murdered their masters and who 
counted upon the restoration of the monarchy to 
give them a clear title to their stolen goods — no 
longer were held together by a common purpose. 
Having failed on the 21st of January to rescue the 
King from the scaffold, they believed that the cause 
of Royalty was lost and hastened to range them- 
selves on the winning side. The cleverest of them 
were the first to try to save themselves by de- 
nouncing their associates — and many of them did 
manage by this discreet promptness to keep their 
heads on their shoulders and their plunder in their 
hands. 

Calisto, whose wits were of the nimblest, was 
in the front rank of these flying camp-followers. 
At the very moment when the pallid head of Louis 
Capet was held up and slapped by the execution- 
er his resolve was formed. Turning to Surto and 

409 


410 


QL[)c (terror. 


La Jacarasse — who were standing beside him, lost 
in a dull wonder that the plot to save the King had 
failed — he said sharply; “ Go home to your house 
in the Rue des Vieux Chemins and don’t stir out of 
it till 1 come there. I am sick of running after her 
whom we seek, and I believe in my heart that you 
know where she is.” 

His words, and the burning look that he fast- 
ened on them in turn, confused Surto completely, 
and for a moment were a puzzle to La Jacarasse. 
But La Jacarasse, who in her way was not far be- 
hind Calisto in cunning, was quick to perceive that 
for some reason of his own he was trying to pick 
a quarrel with them, and shrewdly suspected that 
he had formed some evil design against them both. 
And as she was not a person who took kindly to 
being bullied, she promptly gave him back his 
change. “You might as well know, Calisto,” she 
said, “ that you can’t scare me if you try. all day! ” 

“We’ll see about that! ” Calisto answered, his 
anger beginning to get the better of him. 

“Yes, we will see about it! ” La Jacarasse went 
on. “And I’ll just tell you now plainly that it’s 
you who have hidden Adeline somewhere in your 
own house. And I’ve got the proof of it, you 
mangy hound — see here!” 

As La Jacarasse spoke she opened her basket 
and stuck it under Calisto’s nose. “Do you know 
that frock ?” she asked. “ I’d like you to tell me 
where old Joy was taking it the night I caught her 
coming out of your garden gate! And those ear- 
rings — do you know them.? 1 do! You stole 
them, and you gave them to your little drab of a 
‘ Comtessine ’ ! ” 

Calisto gritted his teeth in astonishment. There, 
certainly, was Adeline’s frock, and there were the 
ear-rings which he had given her. How La Jaca- 


toobcs ®at toobes. 41 1 


rasse had got hold of them was a bad mystery to 
him, and so was what she said about old Joy com- 
ing out from the garden gate at night. But with- 
out stopping to get at the meaning of it all, he an- 
swered furiously: “You rotten old jade. Til make 
you pay for this! Here is clear proof that you 
know where the girl is hidden. It wasn’t enough 
for you to hide away a Marquise — you needs must 
hide away a Countess tool One of them was 
enough to tumble your head off your shoulders, 
and Surto’s too — and that’s what will come of it in 
the end! ” 

As Calisto rapped out his final words he turned 
on his heel — paying no attention to La jacarasse’s 
volleying curses — and was gone. In a moment he 
was lost in the rapidly dispersing crowd. 

Surto, who could make neither head nor tail of 
this violent wrangle, seized upon the central fact of 
the situation — that La Jacarasse was overboiling 
with anger — and good-naturedly asked her to 
coma into a neighbouring tavern and cool her rage 
by taking a drink. 

But the old tarasque, who knew that danger 
was brewing, declined his offer. “This is no 
time for drinking,” she said. “ We’ve got to get 
our hooks into that sneaking cur, and we’ve got 
to get ’em in quick. If we don’t hurry and de- 
nounce him, he’ll get the lead and denounce us!" 

“I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t 
believe you know either,” Surto answered, and he 
gave his heavy German laugh. 

“Didn’t you understand? Well, nevermind. 
I’ll make it all clear to you later. What we’ve got 
to do now is to hurry back to the house and hide 
away your old Marquise somewhere — unless you 
want to be arrested before night for sheltering an 
Aristo.” 


412 


QL[)e S^ertor. 


“And where in the world can I hide her, I’d 
like to know ?” Surto asked as he hurried on after 
La Jacarasse. 

“ Hide her where you please. I won’t have 
her in the house any longer — that’s flat! ” 

“ But 1 don’t see where.” 

“ You don’t see where ? Well, I’ll show you — 
and it’s a place where nobody’ll ever find her, 
what’s more.” 

“ In our house 

“Yes, in our house, you idiot. In our cellar, 
you ass. In our well, you fool. There’s six feet 
of water in it, and that’ 11 cover her for good. If 
you’re not man enough to do it. I’ll tie a stone to 
her neck and throw her in for you myself.” 

At this speech Surto walked less rapidly. La 
Jacarasse turned around and said in a sharp voice: 
“What are you lagging behind for Don’t you 
know that every step backward from safety is one 
step forward to the guillotine ? ” 

The big handsome lout had walked slowly be- 
cause he was thinking — a process that went hardly 
in his heavy mind. He never had seen the huge 
Jacarasse in such a taking, he never had found her 
so terrible. Slowly he gathered the drift of her 
meaning. At her sharp words he quickened his 
steps and together they went rapidly toward their 
home. 

They both were tired and out of breath when 
they reached the house in the Rue des Vieux 
Chemins. Promptly in answer to the three pre- 
arranged knocks, the Marquise came and opened 
the door to them. When she saw La Jacarasse 
foaming like a mad dog, she shuddered and in- 
stantly left them. Shaking and shivering with fear 
she shut herself up in her room. 

La Jacarasse, puffing and blowing, plumped 


tOoltJCS QEat toobcs. 


413 


herself down into a chair. Surto, more thought- 
ful, fetched a bottle of brandy from the cupboard 
before seating himself. He drank little glasses of 
it in rapid succession. His courage was cold and 
he wanted to warm it. He did not venture to 
speak. In his dense mind he was wondering if 
La Jacarasse had been in earnest when she said 
that she would tie a stone to the neck of the Mar- 
quise and bundle her down the well. 

But La Jacarasse, keenly alive to the danger 
that there was for them in the coming storm, did 
not give him much time for meditation. Before 
he had at all warmed his courage she was after him 
sharply. “ Get up ! ” she cried. “ You’ve soaked 
long enough. Get up, 1 say! You’ll have time 
enough to drink afterward! ” 

“Let me drink quietly — and you drink too,” 
Surto replied in a complaining tone. And then 
added: “See here, instead of drowning her, why 
can’t r just turn her out of the house ? ” 

“And have her tell that she had been hidden 
here — and come back, when everything is quiet 
again, and take from us our money and land! 
You’re a fool, Surto. Hurry up, 1 say, hurry up ! ” 
“All right, all right. Keep cool,” Surto grum- 
bled. “ After all, 1 suppose it had to come to this 
some time, so what’s the odds 

But even as Surto spoke there came three tre- 
mendous knocks at the door. La jacarasse rose 
to her feet with a cry of fright. Surto also 
rose. “We must see who’s there,” he said 
stolidly. 

Again came the knocking. La jacarasse lost 
her head completely. She did not know whether 
to open the door boldly or to try to hide herself. 
Surto muttered boosily: “Let ’em bang away. 
When they’re tired they’ll clear out.” And he 
27 


414 


(terror. 


helped himself to some more brandy with a very 
unsteady hand. 

In a fury, Lajacarasse struck him a blow that 
smashed the glass against his lips and cried: 
“Hound that you are, you have got me into this 
mess and you’ve got to get me out of it! Pick up 
your gun and come down stairs with me! ” And 
Surto, half drunk and half stunned by the blow that 
she had given him, meekly picked up his gun and 
followed her down the stair. 

The door already was breaking from its hinges 
when La Jacarasse unbarred it and threw it open 
and stood defiant on the threshold, knife in hand. 
“ Well,” she cried, “what’s all this row about 
What do you want ? ” 

“In the name of the law. Liberty or Death! ” 

It was Calisto who spoke, and as he spoke he 
caught the wrist of La Jacarasse and gave it a twist 
that made her drop her knife to the ground. With 
a yell, she bent over and bit his hand so savagely 
that he let loose his grasp. 

But the cards were all with Calisto in this game. 
He had with him the three orders of arrest which 
Marat had given him, and to enforce them he had 
brought along four of the officers of the Revolu- 
tionary Session. Thus equipped, Calisto repre- 
sented at once the majesty and the strength of the 
law. Surto and La jacarasse had no show. In a 
twinkling — the one drunk, the other furious — they 
were flung upon the ground and bound hand and 
foot. Then, leaving two of the men to guard the 
prisoners, Calisto went on with the other two in 
search of the Marquise. 

They had not far to go for her. Hearing the 
disturbance below, she had come out from her 
apartment to discover what was the matter. They 
met her descending the stair. As she recognized 


toobes (Kat toobee. 


415 


Calisto she exclaimed: “Ah, my good Calisto! 
You will save me! ” 

“Hold your tongue, you jade!” Calisto an- 
swered. “The time has come when your debt to 
the Nation must be paid!” and he turned to his 
men and said : ‘ ‘ This is the woman. Arrest her ! ” 
In a moment the men had caught her roughly, and 
as she stood between them half dead with fright 
they bound her wrists — so tightly that the cord 
cut deeply into the delicate white flesh — and 
then led her down the stair and out through the 
door. 

In front of the house stood one of the tumbrils 
of the Nation. Into it they thrust the Marquise, in 
a dead faint, and Surto, very nearly dead drunk, 
without difficulty. But when they came to La 
Jacarasse it was quite another time of day ! Bound 
though she was. La Jacarasse, yelling and cursing, 
plunged and struggled like a wild beast. It took 
all four of the men to heave her into the tumbril — 
foaming like a mad dog! 

In less than an hour Calisto had the pleasure of 
seeing the three prisoners safely shut fast in the 
Abbaye, and was careful to have added to their 
names on the prison register the warrants signed 
by Marat — which meant a quick journey for all of 
them to the guillotine. 

And then, these matters having been attended 
to satisfactorily, he returned to the house -in the 
Rue des Vieux Chemins and made a clean sweep 
of everything of value that it contained — the deeds, 
the treasure hidden in the well, even La Jacarasse’s 
bag with Adeline’s frock and ear-rings inside of it, 
along with the knife with which he had killed his 
master the Comte de la Vernede. Constituting 
himself the residuary legatee of his late friends, he 
carried all the property of which they had been 


4i6 


(terror. 


possessed away to his own home in the Rue de 
Bretagne. 

Thereafter, for a wearyingly long while, Calisto 
gave all his time to searching for Adeline — save 
only one single day, when his patriotic fervour for 
the winning side led him to take part in carrying 
Marat in triumph to the Convention. Night after 
night he visited the Impasse Guemenee, watching 
and listening near Planchot’s door. But his quest 
was fruitless ; and so were his trips by day to the 
inns frequented by carriers who travelled the Lyons 
road. 

Poor old Joy, meanwhile, had a hard time of it. 
When alone in the big house in the Rue de Bre- 
tagne, she was in perpetual passive fear — that was 
turned into active fear each time that Calisto, furi- 
ous because of his unsuccessful search, came home 
in a rage. Sometimes, to be sure, when he fancied 
that at last he had got a clue to Adeline’s where- 
abouts, he came in smiling and was friendly with 
the old woman. But this was a rare mood with 
him. Usually he was savagely harsh, abusing her 
with cruel words and frightening her still more by 
staring at her with furious eyes. “ He is a change- 
ling, my Calisto,” the poor old body would moan 
to herself— and she would fall a-trembling when- 
ever she heard him open the door. 

One day while she was dozing over her sewing, 
she was startled wide awake by a tremendous bang 
that set everything to rattling and that rumbled 
through the house like a cannon shot. “Mary! 
Joseph 1 ” she cried starting up. “ What’s that ? ” 

“joy! Joy! ” called out Calisto, who had come 
rushing into* the house and had banged the great 
door behind him. 

“Yes, Pm coming, Monsieur Calisto. What is 
your pleasure ? ” 


tOolu^s QEat toobcs. 


417 


“ Hurry and pack my portmanteau, and get 
your own things together. We leave for Avignon 
at once. Be quick! In a minute the post chaise 
will be at the door! ” 

“You frighten me, Monsieur Calisto. Has any- 
thing gone wrong ? ” 

“ I’ve no time for talking. Do what I tell you 
to do, and do it as fast as you can.” 

Leaving Joy to get together and to pack the 
clothing for the journey — a piece of work that the 
confused old woman managed very badly — Calisto 
busied himself in collecting his papers and valuables 
and packing them in a big trunk; and over his 
labour he was light-hearted, for he believed that he 
saw daylight ahead of him at last! 

At last he had definite news of Adeline. Half 
an hour before, on the Place du Faubourg de 
Gloire, he had encountered the train of carts coming 
up from the South with the bells of half the 
churches in Provence. He had questioned the 
carriers as to where they would lodge, in order that 
he might keep a lookout upon them when they 
started for the South again ; and in the course of the 
talk, quite by accident, they had told him how 
they had met jean Caritous with his cage of linnets 
on the way to Avignon. Like a flash of light this 
news had come to him ; and he was as quick as a 
flash of light in acting on it. Within an hour he 
and Joy were in the post chaise together and the 
dust was flying behind them on the Lyons road! 

Poor Joy could not even make a guess at the 
cause of this strange journey. She hardly left the 
corner of the carriage into which she had huddled 
herself at the start, and she scarcely ate any food at 
all. She was utterly bewildered, and dared not 
open her mouth to ask questions — dared not call 
her very soul her own. Day and night, tossed 


4i8 


(^1)0 (Terror. 


about by the rapid motion of the carriage, she 
swayed in her corner telling her beads under her 
apron. One by one they dropped between the 
waxlike fingers of her lean old hands. 

Calisto sat in the other corner, muffled in the 
great blue travelling-cloak that had belonged to the 
Count his master. With compressed lips, and with 
hard menacing eyes fixed on vacancy, he calcu- 
lated and recalculated the chances for and against 
what he had in mind to do. From time to time he 
would put his hand into his pocket and finger 
nervously two papers which he carried there. 
These papers were for life or for death. One of 
them was the formal consent to his marriage with 
Adeline, signed by the Marquise. The other was 
the order for Adeline s arrest, signed by Marat. 

The post chaise devoured the road by day and 
by night. Urged on by the whips of the postil- 
ions, the horses went uphill and downhill, through 
towns and villages and along the lonely road, al- 
ways at a gallop. Peasants leaning on their hoes, 
women and children standing in cottage doorways, 
gazed in wonder at this flying equipage. In the 
forests the wolves were startled as it went racing 
on its way. 

It was Terror rushing by! 


CHAPTER XLII. 


A WHIRLWIND IN AVIGNON. 

Vauclair worked contentedly through the 
morning of the day when the Jews were freed in 
Avignon. When dinner-time came he would have 
been better pleased had his family been at home; 
but he knew that Lazuli and the children were en- 
joying themselves, and he ate his meal by himself 
with the good-humour of an old campaigner and 
went back again to his work. But when mid-after- 
noon came, and still they did not return, he began 
to worry a little. “ They oughtn’t to be running 
after farandoles this way all day without anything 
to eat,” he said to himself. “ Lazuli’s wits must 
have gone wool-gathering.” 

A vague feeling of uneasiness made him lay 
down his plane with a half-formed purpose to go 
and find them and bring them home. But that 
was foolishness, he thought, and with a shrug of 
his shoulders he took up his plane again and went 
on with his work. And just then he saw through 
the glazed upper half of his shop door a stranger 
standing outside — a slim pale man, muffled in a 
blue cloak, and wearing a black hat turned up in 
front above a pale face in which shone two pierc- 
ing black eyes. In another moment the man 
opened the door and uttered one of the passwords 
of ‘the times: “Welcome and brotherhood — or 
death! ” 


419 


420 


@:i)e terror. 


“Or death,” responded Vauclair, and advanced 
a step or two. He was puzzled by receiving a 
visit from a person of such rank, and still more 
puzzled by a vague feeling that he had seen him 
somewhere and ought to know who he was. He 
looked into the man’s eyes steadily as he asked: 
“What is it that you want for the Nation, citi- 
zen ? ” 

The visitor entered with an air of assurance 
that bordered upon arrogance. But as he encoun- 
tered the steadfast gaze of Vauclair’s honest eyes, 
that seemed to read him through and through, and 
as he heard Vauclair’s strong clear voice and saw 
his muscular bare arms, his manner changed. 
Bowing slightly, he answered in a softer voice: 
“I’ve come to tell you that the Comtessine Ade- 
line d’Ambrun, whom you hold in hiding, is in 
danger of being arrested. ” 

“And who are you, and where do you come 
from.^” Vauclair asked. “1 seem to know your 
face.” 

“lam Adeline’s betrothed husband. 1 am this 
moment arrived from Paris. 1 come from her 
mother, the Marquise d’Ambrun.” 

“You say you are betrothed to Adeline!” ex- 
claimed Vauclair — who felt his blood beginning to 
boil and red anger mounting to his eyes. 

“ Yes. And 1 have come to take her away.” 

“And who betrothed her to you.?” Vauclair 
demanded, his eyes flashing. : 

“Her mother, the Marquise Adelaide.” ■ 

“You lie!” shouted Vauclair, and he snatched ‘ 
up a heavy hammer from the bench and held it , 
menacingly in his hand. ; 

But the other answered quite coolly: “There 
is no need for getting into a passion. Herd is : 
proof of what I tell you.” He drew a paper from t 


^ tot)irlminb in ^oignon. 


421 


his pocket and handed it to Vauclair, adding: 

Read this. See, it is signed by the Marquise.” 

“The Marquise is an utterly worthless wom- 
an.” 

“What! Adeline’s mother a worthless wom- 
an ? ” 

“1 have said it! ” Vauclair answered in a ring- 
ing voice, and he raised the hammer and advanced 
another step. 

The visitor drew back toward the door hastily. 
But he held his ground by that open way of re- 
treat and said calmly: “Don’t eat so many nettles, 
citizen. Surely, two men can reason together 
quietly.” 

“Do you call yourself a man.^” Vauclair 
rapped out furiously. 

“ What do you take me for ? ” 

“For what you are — an accursed scoundrel, 
a murderer! ” 

“IP- 

“Yes, you! You, Calisto des Sablees, as you 
call yourself. You are the murderer of your mas- 
ter, the Comte de la Vernede! ” 

“Who told you that lie.^^” Calisto asked. But 
he no longer spoke coolly. His unsteady voice 
was sharpened by fear. He laid his hand on the 
latch of the door. 

“Who told it to me, you blackguard.^ No- 
body told it to me. 1 saw it! 1 myself saw you 
three times over thrust your knife into that old 
man’s throat. I saw you kick his dead body. I 
saw you stamp on his white head. Away with 
you, murderous devil that you are! ” 

As Vauclair rushed out these words he made a 
spring forward. Calisto half turned to run, but 
before he could turn completely Vauclair had him 
by the throat — gripping him so hard that his tongue 


422 


(Jlie Q^cxxox. 


was forced out of his mouth and lolled down over 
his chin. Fortunately for Calisto, that grip did 
not last long. Holding him with one hand while 
he opened the shop door with the other, Vauclair 
turned him around with a rapid twist and then 
gave him a mighty kick that sent him flying out 
into the middle of the Place du Grand Paradis! 

There was no one to see Calisto’s discomfiture. 
The Place was empty. All Avignon was off 
farandoling the freeing of the Jews. With nose 
and ears bleeding from Vauclair’s grip, Calisto 
slowly rose to his feet. Standing unsteadily, he 
shook his fist at Vauclair and said in a voice at 
once hoarse and squeaking, each movement of the 
muscles of his hurt throat causing him a throb of 
pain: “ We shall meet again.” 

“Heaven save you from that meeting!” Vau- 
clair answered. “If ever you cross my path 
again I’ll crush you like the scorpion you are! ” 

And then Calisto took himself off down one of 
the narrow streets, around the corner by the chapel 
of the Violet Penitents. 

After the creature had departed Vauclair blamed 
himself for having permitted him to get away. 
Suppose he should meet Adeline in the street and 
cause her to be immediately arrested ? There was 
a chance of that. It would have been better, he 
thought, had he brained the wretch with the ham- 
mer, and so had done with him for good and all. 
Now he was free, and there was no telling what he 
might do. He was capable of anything — an open 
use of the power of the law, if that would serve 
his turn, and if it would not of knives or poison. 
Vauclair’s brain was in a ferment as these thoughts 
raced through it. And then came the clear con- 
viction that his first and instant duty was to find 
Lazuli and Adeline and to bring them safe home. 


% tol)itltDinb in ^nignon. 


423 


On this he acted. Without taking time to 
throw off his apron, and put on his hat and coat, 
he turned the key in the door of his shop and 
started toward the Place de I’Horloge. As he ad- 
vanced he heard louder and louder the shrill sound 
of the galouhets, and the buzz-buzzing of the tam- 
bour ins, and the gay shouts of the merrymakers. 
But when he got fairly to the Place his quest 
seemed hopeless. The crowd was like a swarm 
of frolicsome bees. As he tried to penetrate it he 
was swept away into a farandole and was carried 
the length of the Place before he could get out 
from the coil of dancers. He went on to the Place 
du Palais, where the feast was in preparation — 
tables set with eatables, an ox revolving on a huge 
spit over a great fire, rows of big round-bellied 
wine casks ready broached and free to all. But to 
these signs of good cheer he paid no attention. 
Uneasy and anxious, he looked everywhere for 
those whom he sought — on the steps of the Palace, 
where a year before he had met Pascalet while 
much such another festival was in progress; on 
the benches ranged in front of the mint; even in 
the church, which was not at all a likely place for 
anybody to enter on so gay a day. He asked his 
friends, as he met them, if they had seen his peo- 
ple, and a good many of them answered that they 
had — in the Place de la Comedie, in the street 
of the Dyers, in the Place Pie, in all parts of Avi- 
gnon. But none of those whom he questioned 
had seen them within an hour. 

More and more anxious, Vauclair forced his 
way again into the crowd. Standing on tiptoe 
in thick of it, he gazed about him — and suddenly 
his leg was seized and he felt something climbing 
up him like a cat. As he looked down he heard 
a little laugh, and a cry of “Papa!” — and there 


424 


®l)c error. 


was Clairet, delighted that he had taken his father 
by surprise. 

“My Clairet!” exclaimed Vauclair, picking the 
child up and kissing him. “ Where are Adeline 
and mama ? ” 

“They’re here,” Clairet answered. As the 
child spoke Vauclair felt a touch on his shoulder, 
and looking around quickly he saw directly be- 
hind him the two laughing faces for which he had 
been hunting so long, and heard Lazuli exclaim : 
“What in the world were you thinking about to 
come out without your hat and in your shirt sleeves 
and apron! ” 

“Never mind what I was thinking about,” 
Vauclair answered severely. “ Come back, all of 
you, to the house at once.” 

“What has happened.^ What makes you so 
grave ? ” Lazuli asked, alarmed by her husband’s 
manner and words. 

“ Wait till we get home. 1 can’t explain things 
to you here. Come at once,” and Vauclair, carry- 
ing Clairet, forced a passage through the crowd 
while Lazuli and Adeline followed in his wake 
filled with a lively anxiety. What had happened 
neither of them could guess, but both of them 
were sure that Vauclair would not have come for 
them coatless and hatless that way unless some- 
thing had gone very seriously wrong. 

When they were free of the crowd, in the 
quiet of the little Place de I’Amiraute, Lazuli pressed 
for an explanation. “What is it.^” she asked. 
“ Why are you so stern ? ” 

“lam very glad that 1 have found you,” Vau- 
clair answered drily. 

“ Surely you didn’t think that we were lost ? ” 

“ I thought you might have had a meeting not 
to my liking.” 


% tol)irltx)inb in ^oignon. '425 


“Oh Vauclair, what do you mean?” cried 
Lazuli blushing. “You never said such a thing 
to me before! ” 

“ You misunderstand me, Lazuli. I mean that 
you might have met the wretch who has iust left 
my shop.” 

“ What wretch ? Who ? ” 

“ Calisto, the murderer! ” 

“Calisto!” exclaimed Adeline, turning very 
pale and catching at Lazuli’s arm for support. 

“And what did that villain want?” Lazuli 
asked, pressing close to Vauclair as though for 
protection. 

Adeline gave a little cry of fear. “Ah.” she 
sobbed, “he has come to persecute me. 1 am 
the cause of this fresh trouble.” 

They hurried on homeward, and as soon as 
they had entered the house in the Place du Grand 
Paradis Vauclair locked and barred the door. That 
much being made safe, they went up into the 
kitchen and there he told what had passed between 
himself and the murderer of the Comte de la Ver- 
nede. When he had finished Lazuli was disposed 
to take a less sombre view of the situation. “Af- 
ter all,” she said, “this is not Paris. Everybody 
knows us here. What can he do ?” 

“Yes,” Vauclair answered. “That is true 
enough. Here in Avignon we have our friends 
around us, and everybody knows that 1 am a good 
patriot. All the same, if that devil goes about say- 
ing we are hiding an Aristocrat trouble is sure to 
come.” 

“1 understand,” said Adeline sadly. “1 un- 
derstand only too well. 1 am the cause of this 
danger — 1 alone. You have saved me from death, 
you are saving me from starvation — and the only 
thanks 1 am giving you is this misfortune that 1 am 


426 


terror. 


bringing into your house. But you shall not suffer 
such misery for my sake. 1 will not bring sorrow 
upon you. I will go away, far away, and I will 
beg my bread from door to door. If wretches like 
Calisto want to throw me into dark prisons to die, 
or try to bring me to the scaffold, 1 don’t care! I 
am not afraid of death. Why should 1 be 1 am 
deserted — alone in the world! ” 

“ Oh my child, my little girl,” said Lazuli very 
tenderly, as she placed her hand upon Adeline’s 
mouth, “don’t say things like that. Don’t break 
my heart! You know that as long as there is a 
crumb of bread in the bread-hutch it is yours. 
You know that as long as there is a drop of blood 
in our veins we will protect you! ” , 

Vauclair was not given to tears, but just then 
two rolled down his cheeks into his blond mous- 
tache. “You have spoken the right words. La- 
zuli,” he said. “The last crumb of our bread 
shall be divided between our two children.” And 
turning to Adeline he went on: “ No matter who 
comes to harm you, my little girl, 1 shall be here 
to take care of you. You do not know me if you 
think my fear is for myself — it is for you. While 
I was hunting for you just now 1 was in dread 
that Calisto had found you, and had managed by 
means of that paper signed by your mother to 
carry you off. And 1 still fear that when you see 
that paper you may let yourself be persuaded into 
following him I know not where. If that should 
happen, if you should be lost to us, our hearts 
would break for you — my little Adeline.” 

Lazuli and Adeline were weeping in each 
other’s arms while Vauclair spoke, and Clairet — 
being left to his own devices and not in the least 
understanding what was going on — was amusing 
himself by breathing on the window-panes and 


1 


^ lDl)irlti)inbf in ^uigncrn. 


427 


drawing pictures on the clouded glass. Suddenly 
he gave a jump and called over his shoulder: 
“Here comes Sergeant Berigot, papa. He’s com- 
ing right straight to our door.” 

“No, no, Clairet,” Vauclair answered. “Ser- 
geant Berigot isn’t coming here.” 

“Yes he is,” Clairet insisted. “He’s coming 
right straight to our door. Here he is now.” 
And, sure enough, there was a sound of knocking 
below. 

“ Is he a bad man } ” asked poor Adeline. 

“Not a bit of it,” Lazuli answered, while Vau- 
clair went down to answer the knocking. “Not 
a bit of it. Sergeant Berigot is a patriot like our- 
selves, and he’s as good as gold.” 

Instead of coming up into the kitchen, the two 
men remained in the shop talking together very 
earnestly. This was more than Lazuli could stand 
for long. Drawing Adeline with her, she tiptoed 
lightly to the head of the stair. These were the 
first words that they heard : 

“ I tell you positively,” said Berigot, “ that the 
order is given to search your house this very 
night.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me,” exclaimed Vau- 
clair, “thatjourdan has ordered my house to be 
searched ” 

“ Oh, he had to do it.” 

“ Had to do it — for such a paper as that ? ” 

“ But there was no doubt about the signa- 
ture.” 

“ Well, what of it } What business was it of 
Jourdan’s ? ” 

“ Whose business is it, if it isn’t his ? If Jour- 
dan hadn’t given the order some one else would — 
the general of the Gendarmerie, perhaps.” 

“I can understand his giving a search-warrant 


428 


(Slie terror. 


if there was anything to show for it. But how a 
mere consent to a marriage ” 

“ What’s a marriage got to do with it?” in- 
terrupted Berigot. “Who’s talking about mar- 
riages ?” 

“lam,” said Vauclair. “I saw the paper — 
this paper signed by the Marquise d’Ambrun.” 

“ But there isn’t any paper signed by the Mar- 
quise d’Ambrun! ” 

“Then what are you talking about? What 
does all this mean ? Whose is the signature that 
you say has been recognized ? ” 

“ Marat’s.” 

For a moment there was a dead silence, and 
then Vauclair said in a hoarse voice: 

“Marat?” 

“ Yes, Marat — the Father of the People. There 
is an order signed by Marat for the arrest of Ade- 
line, Comtessine d’Ambrun. And this fellow from 
Paris says that you are hiding her here in your 
house. Andsojourdan had to issue the search- 
warrant, of course.” 

There was another and a longer silence, and 
then Vauclair said very earnestly: “Thank you, 
Berigot. You are a true friend.” 

“ I am your friend, Vauclair. I remember our 
oath of friendship of long ago. But now that you 
understand it all 1 must get away before the crowd 
breaks up. It would be bad foF both of us if any- 
body saw me coming away from your house to- 
day.” 

And then the two who were listening heard 
the shop door opened and closed again, and an in- 
stant later Vauclair came running up the stair and 
joined them — his face set sternly and very pale. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


THE NEW PASCALET. 

There was no need for Vauclair to tell any- 
thing. Lazuli and Adeline were weeping together 
and it was plain that they knew what Sergeant 
Berigot had told. Seeing them so broken, he put 
aside his own grief and dread and set himself to 
comforting them. And this he could do with a 
good heart because a plan for securing Adeline’s 
safety already had taken shape in his quick-work- 
ing mind. 

“ Come, come,” he said. This isn’t the time 
for weeping and wailing. We’ve got to act 
quickly and be brave.” 

“To be brave.?” echoed Adeline, as she rose 
to her feet. “ 1 can be brave enough to face death, 
as I have told you. 1 am going to leave you. It 
is 1 who am poisoning your lives. My’ race is 
cursed. 1 shall give myself up to the executioner, 
and my blood will atone for the name 1 bear.” 

“Hush, child,” said Vauclair, trying to smile 
and to speak lightly. “ There’s always plenty ot 
time to die in. But 1 like to see you brave and 
resolute. You’re setting a good example to La- 
zuli. Just look at her! Would anybody believe 
that that flabby flop of a woman was my wife ? ” 
And then, addressing himself to Lazuli, he went 
on cheerily: “Come, rouse up, old girl! There’s 
something for you to do, and you’ve got to do it 
28 429 


430 


terror. 


in a hurry! Get out a suit of clothes — things that 
the people around here won’t know — and slip 
them on Adeline as quick as you know how. 
Then we’ll turn her over for a while to some good 
friends — people who will take the best of care ot 
her — and when Calisto comes here with his pre- 
cious search party we’ll snap our fingers in his 
face! ” 

“ What clothes shall I give you ?” Lazuli asked 
as she rose and went to the press. “ I haven’t 
dozens of suits of clothes. And after all, suppose 
we do change her cap and petticoat — that won’t 
change her face.” 

Vauclair himself went to the clothes-press, and 
pushing Lazuli aside began to turn everything up- 
side down. “ Heavens! What are you doing 
exclaimed Lazuli, as she saw the mess into which 
he was throwing her neatly arranged clothes. 

Without answering her, Vauclair went on with 
his rummaging — that ended suddenly with his de- 
lighted cry: “Here is the very thing!” As he 
spoke, he brought out the clothes which Pascalet 
had worn when he came to Avignon from Male- 
mort — the jacket and breeches which good Mon- 
sieur Randoulet had given him, and which Lazuli 
had folded up carefully and laid away in her 
clothes-press when he put on the uniform of the 
National Guard. And there was the little cocked 
hat, too! 

Lazuli burst out laughing. “ Come now, Vau- 
clair,” she said, “ surely you’re not thinking ot 
dressing up Adeline in Pascalet’s clothes and mak- 
ing a boy of her ? Why, that’ll never do! What 
would people say ? ” 

“Yes, but it will do,” Vauclair answered. 
“And it’s got to be done! See quickly if the 
clothes will fit her. If they won’t, you must alter 


@:i)c Nctx) pascalct. 


431 


them till they do. They are the very things for 
her to wear, I tell you, in the place where 1 mean 
to take her and for the work 1 mean her to do.” 

Perceiving he was entirely in earnest and was 
resolved upon having his way. Lazuli made no 
answer; and Vauclair turned to Adeline to beg that 
she would consent to his plan. But there was no 
need to beg her. Already her fear and grief had 
left her and her face was bright with joy. The 
very name of Pascalet had comforted her. As she 
looked at these clothes which he had worn her 
heart bounded with happiness. She took them 
from Lazuli and pressed them to her breast, and tears 
of pleasure sparkled in her eyes. 

“Poor Pascalet!” said Lazuli. “If he could 
know how he is loved and longed for he would be 
happy indeed! ” 

As Lazuli spoke Adeline blushed deeply. She 
was startled when she found how frankly she had 
betrayed her heart’s secret, and sought naively to 
explain it all away. “ Certainly,” she said, with a 
delightful little primness, “ the memory of Pascalet 
is very dear to me. But the sight of these clothes 
stirs me so deeply because they really once were 
mine ! I myself secretly bought the cloth, my good 
old nurse cut them out for me, and then I sewed 
them secretly every bit myself — and gave them se- 
cretly to our good cure for him to give to some poor 
little boy. I had to hide what I was doing from my 
mother because she said that it was all wrong to 
get poor people into the way of wearing good 
clothes, and that people like that did not mind the 
cold. At night, when everybody had gone to bed, 
I would get up and sew. At last they were fin- 
ished, and I carried them myself to good Monsieur 
Randoulet and said to him : ‘You must give these 
to the poorest boy you know.’ And to think that 


432 


®l)e ^cxxox. 


it was my Pascalet who got them and who wore 
them — arid that now I am to wear them too ! How 
strange it all is! ” 

“And now,” said Lazuli, “you shall put them 
on, and we’ll see what sort of a boy you’ll make! ” 

They went into the little room together — and in 
ten minutes came out laughing as if there were no 
such thing as sorrow in the world. 

“Just see what a handsome boy we’ve got! ” 
said Lazuli delightedly to Vauclair. 

“Indeed we have,” Vauclair answered as he 
clapped his hands in approval. “Why, when you 
made them, Adeline,” he went on, *“you must 
’ ^ You fit into them 



“Turn around,” said Lazuli. “Turn slowly. 
Let him see how well they fit you everywhere. 
And now come here and let me do your hair — you 
must wear it in a cue, you know, like a little man. 
See, Clairet! Haven’t you a word for Adeline.^ 
Look how fine she is! Won’t you come and give 
her a sweet kiss ?” 

But Clairet was puzzled by the change that had 
come over Adeline, and a little scared by it. He 
stuck in his corner by the window, twisting and 
rubbing his right foot against his left calf and suck- 
ing his thumb. 

“Come, don’t be a little goose,” said Vauclair. 
“ Don’t you see that it’s dear little Adeline ? Come 
and kiss her.” 

“ ’Tisn’t Adeline! ” said Clairet, his face flush- 
ing scarlet as he turned his back on the little group. 

‘ ‘ What ! Don’t you know her ? Of course you 
know her. Come and take hold of her hand.” 

“’Tisn’t Adeline!” repeated the little fellow, 
still keeping his back turned and his nose against 
the wall. 


^\)c NctD J)ttscakt. 


433 


“Come, come. If it isn’t Adeline, who is it 
then.?” And Vauclair, a little provoked by the 
child’s obstinacy, caught hold of him and turned 
him around. 

But Clairet only put his elbow up before his 
eyes, as though a flash of light had dazzled him, 
and held his tongue. Vauclair pushed down his 
elbow and said in a grave voice: “See here, when 
I speak to you I expect an answer. Now this is 
Adeline who plays with you so often. You must 
kiss her.” 

“’Tisn’t Adeline! ’Tisn’t Adeline!” said poor 
Clairet, fairly whimpering. 

“Who is it then, my little darling.?” Lazuli 
asked, bending over him tenderly as she heard his 
pained little voice and saw the tears in his eyes. 
And Adeline, also touched with pity for him, came 
close to him and said: “ Look, Clairet! It is your 
own Adeline. Don’t you know me now .? ” 

“No, you’re not you,” said Clairet positively. 

“Then who am I .?” 

Clairet was silent for a moment, and then an- 
swered slowly and with evident effort: “You’re 
Pascalet — who gave me his bunch of grapes.” 

At this there was a burst of laughter, and as La- 
zuli snatched up Clairet and kissed him Vauclair 
said: “Well, after all, Clairet’s right. She isn’t 
Adeline any longer, and we will call her Pascalet.” 

‘ ‘ Oh yes ! Do, do call me Pascalet ! ” exclaimed 
Adeline, blushing with pleasure. 

“Well then, Pascalet,” Vauclair answered, 
“you and I must be off. Dusk is falling. The 
sun already is down behind the Rocher des Dorns.” 

The light went out of Adeline’s face as Vau- 
clair spoke, and she asked him sadly: “Where 
are you taking me .? Don’t you want me to stay 
here any more .? ” 


434 


©be terror. 


“Oh child, child,” cried Lazuli, “tear the eyes 
out of my head and the heart out of my breast, but 
don’t say things like that! Yes, we do want to 
keep you here. You are ours, and we will look 
after you as long as we have a drop of blood in 
our veins. But you must try to understand that 
people can’t do what they want to do in these bad 
times. Here is a wretch, a villain, a dog of an 
Aristocrat, who is persecuting you and who has 
come to carry you off in his claws. We must 
hide you away and save you from this danger. 
Do you want us to deliver you up to this vile Ca- 
listo who killed his master and who would kill 
you ? Now that we have saved you from the 
tarasque shall we give you to a scorpion ? It is 
only for your own good that you are to leave this 
house. Tell me that you understand that, Adeline 
— that though you must leave us, you love us and 
trust us still! Oh, say that you do know that 
what we are doing for you is the best. For if you 
don’t understand, Adeline, you shall stay here with 
us. Whe.n the gendarmes come for you, to-night, 
I and my Vauclair will fight them with planes and 
axes. When they carry you away to chain you in 
prison they shall carry us away and chain us with 
you; and together we will go to the guillotine. 
We will die together, Adeline, for you are our very 
own!” And poor Lazuli snatched the girl to her 
breast and kissed her and caressed her in a rain 
of tears. 

“Oh, Lazuli,” exclaimed Adeline, ashamed of 
her hasty words, “ forgive me for hurting you. I 
was all wrong. I know well that what you are 
doing is for my own good. I bring you only trou- 
ble and pain. It is for me that you both are in 
danger — and I thank you only with cruel words! 
Oh forgive me — forgive me and tell me that you 


K'euj Jpascalet. 


435 


know I love you both. On all the wide earth 1 
have only Pascalet and you two ! ” 

“There, there,” said Vauclair, speaking almost 
roughly that he might not show how deeply he 
was touched. “ Don’t cry for nothing.” 

“You are right, Vauclair,” said Lazuli, “we 
are just crying for nothing — like the two foolish 
women that we are! ” 

“ But we will cry no longer,” Adeline said in a 
firm voice, “and wherever you want to take me 1 
will go. Come, let us be off ! ” — and she kissed 
Lazuli and Clairet hurriedly and then seized Vau- 
clair’s hand and led him down the stair before La- 
zuli could say a word. 

“ Be sure to come and see me,” she called up 
from below. “I shall be longing for you all the 
time.” 

“Yes indeed I will,” Lazuli called down to her. 
“Lll come early in the morning — for there’ll be 
little sleep for us to-night.”* 

And then the shop door closed behind them, 
and they were gone. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


IN THE HOUSE OF THE ROPEMAKER. 

Very uncomfortable in her boy’s clothes, Ade- 
line walked on with Vauclair rapidly until they had 
turned the corner of the Rue de la Palapharnerie 
and so were safe from any near neighbour’s eyes. 
But she turned — and even performed the difficult 
feat of walking backwards in her new dress — that 
she might blow kisses to Lazuli and Clairet stand- 
ing at the upper window to wave a good-bye. 

Together they went on to the Place des Grands 
Carmes, where flocks of sparrows were going to 
bed in the elms with a prodigious twittering; then 
to the little Place de la Porte Materoun, thence 
along the Rue du Pont-Troue and through a tangle 
of crooked little streets and alleys, and so at last 
came out on the Rue Saint Christol. 

“ We are going to the house of some good old 
friends of mine,” Vauclair explained as they 
walked along. “The old man is a rope-maker. 
His ropewalk is over there by the ramparts. Very 
likely he’ll set you to turning his wheel.” 

“And I’ll turn it for him with a good will,” 
Adeline answered, delighted that she might have 
the chance to earn her living with her own hands. 

“ It won’t be hard work, you know,” Vauclair 
went on, “and dressed as a boy and working that 
way 1 am sure you will be safe. Not even these 
good people will know that you are a girl, much 
436 


In tl)e ijoitsc of tl)e Hopcmakcr. 437 


less that you are a countess. I shall tell them that 
your name is Pascalet — and be sure that you don’t 
look surprised when they call you Pascalet. That 
would never do at all. And now here we are.” 

As he spoke, Vauclair stopped at the gaping 
door of an old house to the last degree poverty- 
stricken. It had only three windows, to which 
shutters with broken hinges hung crookedly; the 
broken roof was supported uncertainly on rotten and 
bending beams ; great patches of plaster had fallen 
from the bulging walls. It stood in an alley so 
narrow as to be nearly all gutter. Such a house 
seemed fit to be the abode only of rats and fleas. 
As Adeline looked at the squat, dirty, forlorn little 
building her heart sank within her. It seemed to 
her like a beggar crouching in his rags. 

Pushing wider the crazy door, they went in at 
the street level — there was no doorstep. To the 
right was a stable in which stood a very small 
gray ass, along whose backbone ran a fine brown 
line that divided at the rise of his neck and ran 
down on each side like the arms of a cross. He 
seemed a gentle creature. As they went on to 
the ladder-like stairs directly in front of the door 
he turned and regarded them with a benignantly 
curious stare; and as they began to ascend the 
stair dropped his mouthful of straw and shook 
the house with a mighty bray. Instantly, from 
above, came a series of short, shrill, ear-splitting 
barks — and at the head of the stairs appeared a lou- 
bet, not much bigger than a rabbit and as fluffy as 
a handful of hemp. He took himself very serious- 
ly, this little dog — twisting his tail in a miraculous- 
ly tight coil over his back, and rushing about at 
the head of the stair as though the very devil was 
afield! 

Beyond the stair-head they came to the kitch- 


438 


^cxxot. 


en, and there was Claude Papuzant and there was 
his wife Nanoun. The rope-maker was a huge 
old fellow — as long as Pontius Pilate and as good- 
natured as he was long. He sat contentedly in a 
corner, ravelling out hemp for his next day’s work, 
and answering never a word to the steady tirading 
of his spitfire of a wife — a very pepper of a woman, 
always ready to go off with a flash, but always 
good-hearted under the flame. She was standing 
in front of the fire, frying-pan in hand, tossing an 
omelette for supper. Two cats were rubbing 
against her petticoats, and in a case on the wall a 
starling — forgetting that nightfall had come — was 
singing away at the top of his voice in rivalry to 
the music that the frying-pan was making with 
its sizzling and snapping oil. 

“Lord what a row there is in this house! ” ex- 
claimed Vauclair. 

“Oh, that’s you, Vauclair, is it.^” said Na- 
noun, as she made her omelette take a perilous 
leap. “I wondered who it could be coming fo 
see us at this time of day.” 

“1 thought it was cousin Caritous, come to 
talk over his miseries with us,” said Papuzant 
from his corner. “Sit down, Vauclair, and take 
a bit of omelette with us, and the little fellow too.” 

They were the soul of kindliness, these good Pa- 
puzants — and to children especially. The great sor- 
row of their lives was that they had no c&ldren of 
their own — after being married for twenty years. 
It was in default of other family that they had taken 
in the ass and the little dog and the two cats and 
the starling. All day long — save when she was 
berating her big husband, and that took a good 
deal of her time — Nanoun was talking away at the 
top of her voice to one or the other of her beasts or 
to her bird. She made spoiled children of the 


Sn t\)c ijoiise of tl)e tlo|jcmakcr. 439 


whole of them. Not a day passed that the dog 
did not get his dish of soup, and the cats their 
platter of minced lights, and the starling his fresh 
chickweed, and the ass his nubbin of bread and a 
kiss on his velvety nose. But, after all, they only 
were animals. Time and again one or the other 
of the Papuzants had said to Vauclair: “Ah, if 
only there was a boy of our own to turn the 
wheel! ” 

So Vauclair knew what he was doing when he 
brought the new Pascalet into this kindly house- 
hold, and he was not surprised by the warm wel- 
come they gave to the little lad. 

“ He’s a good obedient boy, this Pascalet,” said 
Vauclair. “ He’ll turn the wheel for you, and he’ll 
fetch water from the fountain, and he’ll lead the 
ass to the market-place, and he’ll do all you want 
him to do — and he’ll do it well. And you’ll take 
good care of him, and be kind to him. I’m sure.” 

“We will take as good care of him and be as 
kind to him as if he was our own boy,” said old 
Papuzant. 

“Indeed we will,” chimed in Nanoun — and she 
left her omelette on the fire to burn and went over 
to Adeline and stroked her face and pressed her 
hand. “And you really will live with us, you 
pretty boy ? ” she asked. And to this the pretty 
boy answered, with a quiver in his voice: “If 
you will have me, I’ll be only too glad to stay! ” 

Papuzant, quite overrunning with delight, said 
to himself: “Of course he’ll be glad to stay, bless 
him!” But what he said aloud was: “To have a 
boy like that, Vauclair, is just what we want. But 
suppose he shouldn’t want to stay with us. Na- 
noun and I must think of that, you know.” 

“Hold your tongue, you old babbler!” cried 
Nanoun. “Why on earth should he want to go 


440 


Ferrer. 


away, I’d like to know ? Won’t he be well ofif 
here ?” 

“ Yes, I suppose so. But listen ’’ 

"‘Hold your tongue, I tell you! Of course 
he’ll stay with us, the dear! How pretty he is — 
almost as pretty as a girl. Do you think you can 
turn the wheel, my dear.^” 

“ Oh yes, I think so.” 

“Just listen to what a sweet voice he’s got! 
It’s almost as sweet as a girl’s.” 

“ But,” persisted the rope-maker, “ there’s one 
thing I want to know ” 

“You don’t know what you want to know,” 
put in Nanoun. “ Heavens what a long tongue 
you’ve got, and how it does wag! ” 

And all this time the omelette was scorching 
in the pan ! 

“ He’s from my part of the country,” Vauclair 
said, in the hope of making a diversion. “He has 
neither father nor mother. My cousins sent him 
to me. And I remembered what Papuzant told 
me about wanting a boy, and so I brought him 
here.” 

“Well,” said Papuzant, “it won’t be our 
fault if he is not happy with us.” 

“Now, for a wonder, you’re talking sense!” 
said his wife. “No, indeed, if he isn’t happy it 
won’t be our fault.” 

“ I must be going now,” said Vauclair. “ Re- 
member, Pascalet, you must do what you are told 
to do and work hard. And you must promise me 
that you won’t cry.” 

“ I promise,” said Adeline, fighting hard to 
keep back her tears. 

“Of course he won’t cry,” said Nanoun. 
“There’s nothing to make him cry as long as he 
stays with us. See now, dearie, you shall play 


Jn tl)e ^ouse of tl)e Eo^jemaker. 441 


with the little dog, you shall ride the donkey every 
morning when he carries the ropes to the market- 
place, Lazuli will come to see you often, and on 
Sundays we’ll all go and have a merry picnic on 
the bank of the Durance.” 

“ Well, good-night,” said Vauclair. “ I’m off 
now. I promised Lazuli to come right back again. 
I’ll tell her that the boy is well off and that he 
won’t miss us much. Lazuli will come to see 
you to-morrow, Pascalet. Good-night all.” And 
Vauclair went down the steep stair. 

Nanoun turned again to her cooking, and gave 
a cry when she saw her omelette. “ Deuce take 
it all! ” she exclaimed. “ Our supper’s burned to 
a crisp! ” 

But it wasn’t quite as bad as that, after all. 
One side of the omelette certainly was badly 
burned, but as 4he other side was only a good 
golden brown they managed to eat it — and Nanoun 
balanced matters, making a little feast in honour 
of the new arrival, by bringing out nuts and figs 
and cordial wine. The starling had gone to sleep, 
but the cats were very wide awake indeed, and the 
little dog made friends with Adeline immediately, 
and delighted her by dancing on his hind legs and 
begging. When she found that she was permitted 
to feed him she gave him as much bread as he 
would swallow and some scraps of omelette too. 

But the poor child had a hard time of it in one 
way, for the very kindliness of the old people led 
them to question her vigorously, and she was 
forced to make up on the spur of the moment all 
sorts of stories about herself. When they pressed 
her too closely she pretended to be so busily en- 
gaged with the little dog that she did not hear 
what they asked, and so gained time to think out 
an answer that would not be at cross-purposes 


442 


®I)e S^crror. 


with what she had already told. On the whole, 
she came off from her catechism fairly well; though 
it went on almost steadily through the supper and 
through the evening until the old people were 
ready to go to bed. 

When bedtime came Papuzant took down the 
lantern from the chimney-shelf and lighted it, 
whistled to the little dog to follow him, and then 
led Adeline down the steep stair to the stable 
where was the bed on which she was to sleep. 
Very different was this sleeping place from the 
clean room with its clean mattress on which she 
and Clairet had slept so sweetly, with Vauclair 
and Lazuli close at hand to keep them from harm. 
In the draughty stable, its walls covered with 
dusty cobwebs, was a sagging little old bedstead 
leaning against a straw-heap and littered over 
with straw. 

“ There is your little bed,” said Papuzant, rais- 
ing the lantern so that Adeline might see it better. 
“ You’ll be ever so comfortable in it when we get 
it a little in shape. Just hold the lantern while I 
change the straw.” 

Adeline’s heart was quite down in her toes; 
but she did not speak, and obediently took the 
lantern from Papuzant and held it while he cleaned 
away the crushed straw from the bed and threw 
it down before the ass. As for the ass, the com- 
ing of these unexpected visitors delighted him. 
He whinnied, he pawed the ground, he rubbed 
himself against his manger, he moved his long 
ears backward and forward, he whisked his scrag 
of a tail. In every way known to him he ex- 
pressed his joy. 

Having littered the bed with fresh straw from 
the heap and spread it smoothly, and having called 
up to Nanoun to bring the sheets and the coverlet, 


3 n tl)e ^oitse of Hopentaker. 443 


Papuzant turned good-naturedly to the ass to 
have a little friendly chat with him. 

“Well Bishop,” he said — they called him 
Bishop because he usually carried his ears erect 
like the two horns of a mitre — “ no more dullness 
now for you! You are to have a little master 
who will feed you and water you, and who will 
sleep beside you every night. Don’t throw him 
off when he rides you, and don’t try to kick him 
when he draws your girths. If you do — well, 
you’d better look out for whacks! ” And as Papu- 
zant delivered these monitions he scratched the 
Bishop’s forehead and stroked his back. Adeline 
also stroked him and gave his fuzzy ears a gentle 
rubbing. At these manifestations of kindliness the 
ass half closed his eyes with pleasure and rubbed 
his soft nose against Papuzant’s arm. 

The little dog, waxing jealous, claimed also his 
share of caresses. First he nibbled at the ass’s feet 
to distract his attention, and then he stood up on 
his hind legs and licked a kiss on the ass’s nose. 
But the Bishop, having Papuzant and Adeline to 
pet him, paid no attention to his little friend — nor 
did the others. The little dog was left quite out in 
the cold! 

Nanoun came bustling down the stair, bringing 
a coverlet and a pair of coarse unbleached sheets 
which smelled sweet of outdoor washing and of 
the lavender in which they had lain. She spread 
the sheets on the fresh straw neatly, with the cover- 
let over them, and by filling a linen bag with straw 
made a comfortable pillow. “There, chick,” she 
said, “ you’ll be bedded like a little marquis. May 
I be tickled to death if ever you’ve had a bed better 
than that! ” 

“Shall we leave him the lantern?” Papuzant 
asked. 


444 


terror. 


“Why should we ? ” Nanoun answered. “He 
knows where his bed is and he can find his way to 
it. Children don’t need light— and if he had it he 
might knock it over and set the house afire.” And 
then turning to Adeline she went on : “ You needn’t 
get up till daylight, you know. The little dog will 
sleep here with you, and the donkey too. That 
will make company for you. The donkey is the 
best donkey in the world.” 

As she spoke, Nanoun gently stroked Adeline’s 
head, not venturing on such short acquaintance to 
kiss her, and Papuzant also petted her in a shy way 
■ — for both of these good, old souls felt as though 
this were their own child. Then they fastened the 
outer door for the night and went upstairs to bed, 
carrying the lantern with them and leaving Ade- 
line standing there in the dark. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


JACaUEMART STRIKES HIS BELL. 

Tears were very close to Adeline’s eyes when 
she found herself thus left solitary in the black 
stable. But she held them back bravely — remem- 
bering her promise to Vauclair and that, after all, 
the two old people who were so kind to her were 
not really far away. And so, having steadied her- 
self, she set about going to bed. 

As she stooped down to untie her shoes the 
little dog licked her hand, and this proof of friendly 
living companionship comforted her. “So you are 
there, my dear little dog,” she said. “And you 
don’t want me to go to sleep without a kiss. 
Well, I'm glad you feel that way about it, for with- 
out you I should be very lonely indeed.” The 
little dog seemed to understand what she said, and 
tried, on his side, to make her understand that he 
was glad to have company too. When she got into 
bed he laid himself at her feet to take care of her, 
after winding himself up by turning around three 
times as though he were trying to catch his own 
tail. 

She snuggled down into her bed, finding it very 
comfortable indeed ; and sweet thrills went through 
her as she pulled Pascalet’s jacket close to her face 
on the pillow and kissed it — and was less fearful of 
the darkness because she seemed to feel him near 
her to protect her from harm. But her eyes were 

29 445 


446 


®I)c terror. 


very wide open, and she listened intently to make 
sure that no one was moving near her there in the 
dark. However, the sounds that she did hear were 
not alarming ones: the Papuzants moving about 
upstairs, the buzz of a far-off tambourin marking 
the time of a farandole, the soft crunching of the 
Bishop’s jaws as he munched away at a mouthful 
of straw — and this last, being soft and rhythmic, 
like the beats of a pendulum, lulled her soon to 
sleep. 

In the morning it was the Bishop who woke 
her, and the rest of the household, with a mighty 
braying. She awoke, as she had gone to sleep, 
with her lips against the hem of Pascalet’s coat. 
Broad daylight had come. The sunshine was 
bursting in at every crack and knot-hole joyously. 
The little dog still was lying at her feet, and still 
was — or was pretending to be — fast asleep. Sud- 
denly there was the sound of a chair being moved 
in the room above — and at this sign of life, which 
also was a sign of breakfast, the ass turned his 
head around with his thick lips wide open and all 
his teeth showing in a pleased grin. He dragged 
at his halter, looking eagerly toward the stair down 
which Papuzant came to him every morning with 
a handful of oats. Then the dog got up, stretched 
himself, yawned as though he would crack his 
jaws asunder and fell to wagging his tail vigorous- 
ly. He turned politely to Adeline and gave her a 
kiss of good-morning on the tip of her nose. Then 
away he bounded, like a fluffy India-rubber ball, 
and scampered up the stair to greet his master 
with a little tornado of short sharp barks. 

Adeline also jumped out of bed, and dressed 
herself quickly — for all that she had a good deal of 
difficulty in managing her new clothes. The ass 
was delighted to see his companion up and mov- 


lacquentart Strikes i)is Beil. 


447 


ing. He tugged at his halter and begged her with 
whinneyings to come and pet him. Adeline did 
not need much begging. Taking his big head in 
her arms she laid her cheek against his friendly 
nose and scratched him gently about his fuzzy 
ears — which so pleased him that he whinnied soft- 
ly and rolled up the whites of his eyes. 

In the midst of this interchange of kindly civili- 
ties there came a sudden sharp knock at the outer 
door that made Adeline jump with fright. She 
was uncertain whether she ought to open the door 
herself or to tell Papuzant that some one was 
knocking outside. As she stood irresolute the 
rope-maker called from above: “Is that you 
knocking down there, Pascalet ? ” 

“No. It is some one in the street.” 

“ Who is it?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“Open the door.” 

Fumbling a little, Adeline obeyed this order. 
She drew back the bolt and swung open the crazy 
door — and gave a cry of alarm as she saw Lazuli 
standing in the doorway, pale as death, her eyes 
red with weeping and surrounded by dark rings, 
the very image of despair. Unable to speak. La- 
zuli caught Adeline to her breast and closely clasped 
her there. 

“ What is the matter? Oh Lazuli, 1 never saw 
you like this! ” 

And with a great sob Lazuli answered: “My 
Adeline, my darling, no creature on earth can be 
more unhappy than 1 am! ” 

“ Hush, you know I am no longer Adeline.” 

“You are right, child. 1 don’t know what I 
am saying.” 

“Is that you. Lazuli .?” Nanoun called down. 
“Come right upstairs and we’ll have a nice talk.” 


448 


®lie terror. 


“I am in dreadful trouble, Nanoun,” Lazuli an- 
swered as she went up the stair, still holding Ade- 
line’s hand. “ I am in boiling oil! ” 

“Good Heavens! what’s the matter? Is it 
your husband ? Is it your little boy ? Sit down 
and tell me what it is that’s wrong.” 

“Frightful things are happening to us,” Lazuli 
answered, letting herself drop into a chair and her 
arms hang limply at her sides. 

“ But what ?” 

“You know us. You know us for good hon- 
est people. Without undervaluing any one, 1 can 
say that we are as good as anybody. You know 
what we think and what we do. We were among 
the very first to come out for the Revolution, and 
we’ve stuck to it ever since. My Vauclair was a 
sergeant, and a good one, for two whole years in 
the National Guard. He went to Paris with the 
Marseilles Battalion, and he fought to tear down 
the Tyrant. He did all a patriot ought to do for the 
good of the Nation. He sacrificed everything for 
the good of his country and for Liberty. He lived 
on musty bread and garlic and drank ditch water for 
all the three hundred leagues to Paris — and when 
he got there he walked right into the lion’s jaws.” 

“We know all that — and you did your share 
too. You both are good patriots all the way 
through.” 

“Good patriots!” echoed Lazuli in a tone at 
once scornful and sorrowful. “ We are nothing of 
the sort.” 

“Hush, Lazuli. It is wicked to say what ev- 
erybody knows is not true.” 

“It is as true as gospel,” cried poor Lazuli. 
“We’re not good patriots any longer. We are 
nothing but traitors. Last night they came and 
searched our house!” 


Sacquemart Strikes f)is Bell. 


449 


‘ ‘ What ! Oh that's not possible ! ” 

“ They did it, I tell you. They said we’d hid- 
den Aristocrats. They turned the whole place up- 
side down. They pulled out all my linen. They 
upset all my clothes. They even roused up Clai- 
ret and set him to crying, the poor innocent, while 
they searched his bed. If they’d been robbers it 
wouldn’t have been any worse! '’ 

“ Some one must have denounced you. Some 
enemy.” 

Yes, and we know only too well who it was. 
It was a murderer, a dog of an Aristocrat. My 
husband simply is furious. He is in such a rage 
that I’m afraid he’ll be ill. He talks about joining 
the Federalists who are going up to Paris from 
Marseilles.” 

“ Lord help us!” cried Nanoun, with her arms 
in the air. “He mustn’t do that. Why, those 
Federalists are Whites — they’re Anti-Patriots of the 
worst kind! ” 

“ Maybe they are. AH the same, Rebecqui is 
with them — the same Rebecqui who came out to 
Saulieu to meet the Marseilles Battalion, and who 
was sent down by the Convention to be our Gov- 
ernor here in Avignon. If there’s a good Red any- 
where it’s him.” 

“ That’s as may be. All I’ve got to say is that 
whoever’s against the Mountain is for the Aristo- 
crats. If your Vauclair goes with those Marseilles 
Federalists that’s the end of him as a good patriot 
and a friend of Liberty. And I want you to under- 
stand that I know what I’m talking about. I’ve 
learned a lot at the Club at the tavern in the Rue 
du Pont-Troue.” 

“ I told you I didn’t want you to go there,” 
said Papuzant, coming out from the bed-alcove 
half dressed. 


450 


(terror. 


Nanoun faced around upon him in a sudden 
fuff of anger. You know no more about it than 
the great Saint Joseph does!” she cried. “Un- 
ravel your hemp and hold your tongue! What do 
you want to come mixing in for, anyhow ?” 

“I tell you the tavern in the Rue du Pont- 
Troue is no better than it should be, and I don’t 
want you to go there any more.” 

“Well, that’s a nice thing to say, isn’t it? 
You want to make out that I'm no better than I 
should be, 1 suppose! I’ll have you to know that 
I’ll go just wherever I please! ” 

“You sha’n’t go to that Club again! ” 

“I tell you I shall! When we were married, 
twenty years ago, I put on the breeches. I’ve kept 
’em on ever since — and I don't mean to take ’em 
off now! ” 

“Yes, yes, I know you’ve worn them for 
twenty years. But I’ve had enough of it, now. 
I say you’re not to go to that tavern again! ” 

“Look out! My hand’s beginning to itch — 
you’d better hold your tongue! Just listen to him. 
Lazuli — to that man trying to give orders to me / 
I tell you 1 11 go where I please! ” 

“ I’ll tie you fast to the leg of the table, and you 
sha’n’t stir out of the house! ” 

“ You tie me! You keep me in the house!” 
And the little woman, in a flaming fury, stuck her 
arms akimbo and circled around her big husband 
like a mouse around a bear. “ You won’t let me 
go out!’’ she cried, stopping in front of him and 
shaking her little fist as near as she could reach to 
his nose. I tell you I mean to go to the club 
every night of my life! ” 

“And 1 tell you that if ever you go there again 
you’ll get your backbone polished with a triple- 
twisted rope! ” — and as Papuzant made this strong 


lacrjuemart Strikes l^is Seil. 


451 


declaration he caught her little fist in his big hand 
and squeezed it so hard that she cried out with 
pain. 

“Oh, you brute beast! You’ll beat me, will 
you.^” screamed Nanoun, wrenching loose her 
hand. “ I’ll show you who’s master here! ” — and 
she tried to claw Papuzant’s face, but her little 
arms were too short. Then, with a sudden shift- 
ing of her line of attack, she darted behind him, 
jumped upon a chair, and with an arm reached 
over each shoulder gave him two sounding smacks 
on the cheeks. 

At all this racket the starling started a shrill 
song, the little dog burst into a volley of sharp 
barks, and the Bishop — waiting impatiently for his 
expected handful of oats — let out a thunderous 
bray. Only the cats, used to these tiffs, preserved 
a decorous silence. One of them, curled up with 
her nose under her tail, slept through the whole 
of it; the other, calmly seated on the dresser, 
gazed at it placidly with unwinking yellow eyes. 

Lazuli, taking things less quietly, interposed 
for the protection of Papuzant — who had been so 
upset by the skilful flank movement that he still 
seemed to be wondering where his slaps in the 
face had come from, while his wife continued to 
buzz on the chair with the persistence of an angry 
bee. To put a stop to farther violence, Lazuli 
caught Nanoun by the petticoats and pulled her 
down off the chair, at the same time saying good- 
naturedly: “ Come, come, you mustn’t go to fight- 
ing that way about nothing. It won’t do any 
good, and it’ll just set folks to laughing at you.” 

' “ Why does he want to make me out a good- 
for-nothing huzzy then?” demanded Nanoun 
fiercely. 

“1 never said you were a good-for-nothing 


452 


®l)c ® error. 


huzzy. If you must go to a club, go to the one in 
the Violet Penitents.’’ 

''That Club!” sniffed Nanoun. “Go there 
yourself. It’s just the place for you. I never knew 
so many old grannies together in my life! ” 

“Well, it’s news to me,” Lazuli broke in, try- 
ing to put a stop to all this squabbling, “that 
you’re such a Montagnarde.” 

“Indeed I am,” Nanoun answered. “I’m as 
Red as I can be — and redder than ever since that 
jade of a Charlotte stabbed the Father of the People, 
Marat.” 

Lazuli winced at the name of Marat, and was 
about to wag her tongue angrily when Papuzant 
broke in with: “Oh, come now, Marat’s dead — 
and if you want to you may wear mourning for 
him. But we can get along without him. Haven’t 
we got Robespierre, the Friend of the People ? And 
haven’t we got Danton and Barbaroux and a lot 
more ? ” 

“It’s clear, my poor Papuzant,” said Lazuli, 
“that you don’t know how things are going. 
Barbaroux and all the leaders of the Gironde are to 
be arrested. They are running away like so many 
robbers. Our good Republican Barbaroux, who 
talked to us so well from the pulpit of the Grands 
Carmes, is hiding himself just as if he was an Aris- 
tocrat.” 

‘ ‘ What are you saying ! ” cried Nanoun. ‘ ‘ Bar- 
baroux running away and hiding ! Well, that beats 
all! I give up trying to understand anything after 
that! ” 

“ As for me,” said Lazuli, “I can believe that or 
anything else — when here in Avignon my own 
Vauclair is a ‘ suspect ’ ! ” 

“ It’s the Aristocrats,” declared Nanoun, “ who 
are at the bottom of all this. Why under the sun 


Jacquematt Strikes l)is ?3eU. 


453 


don’t we just cut off all their heads at once and be 
done with it! ” 

“Yes, that’s what we ought to do,” Papuzant 
assented. “They’re a race of vipers. They’re as 
bad as couch-grass — pull up one tuft and two grow 
in its place.” 

“Hush! what’s that.^” exclaimed Lazuli. 
“Isn’t that the tocsin.^ Certainly that’s Jacque- 
mart* striking his bell.” 

“ Yes, it’s Jacquemart, sure enough,” said Papu- 
zant. “ But he’s not sounding the tocsin. That's 
the call for the Council to come together. What 
can they want to get the Council together for at 
this time of day ? ” 

“Well, we can look for anything in these 
times,” said Lazuli, rising to leave. “To think that 
only yesterday we were having such a good time 
— getting all tangled up in the Jew farandole and 
all sorts of fun — and to-day we’re just despairing. 
Our house has been searched, and by to-night we 
may be shut up in jail ! ” 

“ There’s no fear of that,” said Papuzant. “ If 
they tried to put patriots like you in prison not only 
the people but the very stones in the street would 
rise up in anger.” 

“That’s all very well,” Lazuli replied, “but 
here is Barbaroux treated as if he was a wretch of 
an Aristocrat, and yet the people are quiet and the 
stones are dumb! But I must go back to my Vau- 
clair to keep him from getting into a fury. I’ll try 
to quiet him down, and maybe he’ll go and find 
out what’s the matter so early at the Hotel de 
Ville.” 

Lazuli turned to Adeline and kissed her, whis- 


* Jacquemart and Jacqueline are two wooden figures who strike 
the bell in the clock tower of the Avignon Hotel de Ville. 


454 


®lie ©error. 


pering: “ My darling, don’t trouble your head about 
anything. There are tears in your eyes, and that’s 
all wrong. Things will smooth out again.” And 
then she added aloud: “You are with good kind 
people, Pascalet, who will take the best of care of 
you. They are a little quick-tempered, perhaps, 
and Nanoun is not slow to use her hands; but her 
rages never last long — they’re just a blaze of 
straw! ” 

“No, my dear little fellow,” said Nanoun. 
“You mustn’t mind our carryings on. That’s the 
way Papuzant and 1 show our love for each other. 
For the next two or three days we’ll be a pair of 
turtle doves — won’t we, my old man ?” 

But Papuzant smiled only on one side of his 
mouth as he answered: “If you had a little more 
sense people could come to this house without our 
making laughing-stocks of ourselves.” 

“Well, you’re right, my old nightingale,” said 
Nanoun good-naturedly. “ But now that we have 
this dear little boy with us I’m sure we won’t have 
so many spats.” 

Lazuli smiled as she said: “Now that’s right. 

I like to hear you talk that way. And I like to 
think that you’ll get along better for having Pasca- 
let with you. Well, one more kiss, and then I’ll 
go back to see what my Vauclair’s doing, and why 
Jacquemart’s striking his bell.” 

They all three went down to the street door 
with her, and stood there for a minute or two after 
she had gone listening to Jacquemart up in the 
tower of the Hotel de Ville hammering on his bell. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


LAZULI TAKES THE HELM. 

Lazuli walked very fast. She was in a hurry 
to get back to her husband. A quite unreason- 
able dread possessed her that she might not find 
him when she returned. It was a relief to her 
mind, as she crossed the Place du Grand Paradis, 
when through the open door of the shop she saw 
him, and beside him Clairet playing in the shav- 
ings. But Vauclair was not working. He was 
sitting on his bench and his face was very thought- 
ful and grave. 

“Well,” said Lazuli cheerfully, as she entered 
the shop. “ I hope that by this time you’ve got 
things settled in your mind and don’t mean to go 
away. If you run across that scoundrel again I’m 
certain that you’ve only got to take him to Jour- 
dan and telLthe whole story to get his head into 
the cat-hole of Madame Guillotine.” But Vauclair 
did not answer, and Lazuli’s tone and manner 
changed suddenly as she added : “ Why, you seem 
all stunned! Why don’t you speak to me .^” 

“ What can I say ? I’m a lost man ! ” 
“Vauclair! I don’t know you when you talk 
like that! ” 

“My poor Lazuli! There is no hope for me. 
I tell you I’m a lost man! ” 

“What do you mean.? I don’t understand 
you. For my part, the more danger there is the 
braver I am.” 


455 


456 


®I)c terror. 


“ Haven't you heard Jacquemart ? ” 

“ Of course I’ve heard him. Well ? ” 

'‘Don’t you know why the Council’s called 
together ? ” 

“ No, and I don’t care! ” 

“Poor Lazuli! You don’t care! Well, the 
Council has met to ruin us! ” 

Lazuli went pale at this, but she held herself in 
hand and said: “ I think you must be making fun 
of me. This isn’t like you, my own Vauclair.” 

“It’s that traitor again,” Vauclair went on. 
“ I have been on his tracks, but I haven’t caught 
up with him. He was out early this morning too. 
He went to Canon Jusserand’s in the Rue du Limas 
— the house where our Pascalet had such a time 
of it when he went there with his red cockade. 
What Calisto wanted in the house of that Anti- 
Patriot I don’t know. But I do know that he has 
succeeded in having the Council called together to 
make this decree that will do for us! ” 

“ But what do you mean.? What is this de- 
cree ? ” 

“ It is because Avignon is threatened by a siege 
by the Federal army. The Council means to drive 
all the Aristocrats and ‘ suspects ’ outside the 
walls.” 

“ But what has that got to do with us ? ” 

“ What has that got to do with us ? It means 
death to us! It has been decided, and this is what 
the Council v/ill decree, that whoever has hidden 
an Aristocrat shall be condemned to death along 
with the person they’ve hidden. To make sure 
that no one shall escape, every house in Avignon 
is to be searched to-night. After sundown every 
one must stay indoors, and on each house must be 
marked with chalk the number of people inside of it. 
When the search party arrives the number of per- 


£a^uii iS^akes tl)c 


457 


sons inside must be the same as the number writ- 
ten outside. Then each person in the house 
must give his or her name and place of birth, along 
with the names of his or her father and mother; 
and that there may be no chance for lying, baptis- 
mal certificates must be brought out to prove these 
facts. Do you begin to see now ? What is to be 
done about our poor Adeline ? The Papuzants 
will come here to ask us about her, to get her cer- 
tificate of baptism — and what are we going to say 
or do 

“Why, we’re going to make everything all 
right!” Lazuli answered resolutely. “We’ll tell 
the Papuzants that the boy must come home, so 
that we can make his declarations for him. And 
then, when we get Adeline into our own hands 
again, we’ll take her over to Villeneuve — we’ve 
plenty of friends there — for the night.” 

“ All that is impossible.” 

“ Why 

“ Because the seven gates of Avignon are to be 
closed. By this time very likely they are closed. 
No one can go out until the search is over and all 
the arrests have been made.” 

“ But do you think it is Calisto who has con- 
trived all this ? ” 

“ If he has not contrived it he is the cause of it. 
It is he who has blown the plague-wind of perse- 
cution into Avignon to gain his own ends. He 
knows that Adeline is hidden here, and he believes 
that he can find her in this way.” 

“Oh the villain, the wretch!” cried Lazuli, 
and as she saw this fresh gulf opening at her feet 
she buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. 

Clairet jumped up from among the shavings 
and ran to his mother to comfort her, climbing on 
her knees and kissing her and hugging her tight 


458 


(JI)e terror. 


with his little arms; and Vauclair, angry with 
himself for his weakness, tried also to comfort her 
with more resolute words. Never had he seen 
his wife, his brave Lazuli, break down so com- 
pletely. It filled him with a hotter rage against 
this Calisto who had arrayed enemies against him. 
He snatched down his gun from the wall and fell 
to loading it, to a rattling accompaniment of fierce 
oaths. “ They sha’n’t smoke me out like a fox in 
a hole!” he cried. “1 won’t yield to any one. 
Let that devil only come here again, and I’ll shoot 
him as I’d shoot a mad dog! Where are my pis- 
tols ? I’ll load them too ! ” 

He opened the drawer of his bench, searching 
for his pistols, and threw the planes and hammers 
anywhere. His anger grew and grew. His eyes 
flashed. He could not speak coherently. He was 
beginning to see red. 

Steadied by the need for checking his violence. 
Lazuli stopped short in her sobbing and forced 
herself to be calm. In a moment, as tranquilly as 
though no trouble were near them, she took his 
hand and said quietly: “ Because I have been cry- 
ing a little, dear husband, don’t think that I’m giv- 
ing myself up to despair. Put away your gun and 
your pistols. We can’t deliver Adeline with pow- 
der and ball. But you just leave the matter with 
me — and see if I don’t get her safe out of the 
claws of that monster, and with no more dis- 
turbance than if 1 went to gather a violet in the 
fields!” 

Vauclair knew that Lazuli was to be trusted, 
and most to be trusted in the face of difficul- 
ties. Her firm words, spoken so quietly, soothed 
him ; but he did not immediately regain his self- 
control. 

“ What am I to do ?” he asked irresolutely. 


£a^ttli t[)C ^elm. 


459 


“Nothing at all but just stay quietly here in 
your workshop. For what I arh going to do I 
don’t need you, and you must take care of Clairet. 
I may not get back for several days.” 

“Get back How can you go away? The 
seven gates of Avignon are shut tight.” 

“ But they are not shut forever.” 

“They’re shut until the search is made.” 

“Yes, but they’ll be open again to-morrow 
morning, and then we can leave.” 

“ But what do you mean ? Do you mean that 
you want to go away with Adeline and leave me 
here ? That must not be. Lazuli. I will not be 
separated from you again.” 

“ It must be, dear Vauclair. Adeline can’t stay 
in Avignon. That wretch knows that she is here 
and he will give us neither rest nor peace till he 
has her in his hands.” 

“But where will you take her?” Vauclair 
asked, beginning to yield a little. 

“To her own village of Malemort. I will give 
her into the keeping of the good cure there. Mon- 
sieur Randoulet. Everybody, White or Red, says 
that he’s the very best man that ever lived. In his 
care, and away off there in the mountains, she 
will be safe.” 

“But where will you hide her from now till 
to-morrow morning — while they are making the 
search ?” 

“Now that’s my lookout,” Lazuli answered, 
smiling a little. “ I’ll attend to the whole matter 
— and the best way for you to help me is just to 
pretend that there’s nothing going on that’s a bit 
out of the ordinary way.” 

“ I don’t understand you, Lazuli. It seems to 
me that I ought to be able to help. I’ll go where 
you like and I’ll do what you please.” 


460 


^\)C tUcttox. 


“No, no. I don’t want you to go anywhere. 
Just put on your apron and go to planing and sing- 
ing ‘ La Marseillaise.’ ” 

“ Oh our holy, our consecrated ‘ Marseillaise ’ ! ” 
Vauclair burst out. “ In those glorious days when 
we marched to Paris singing it we knew each other 
for patriots and brothers, and in our brotherhood 
we were safe. But that good time has passed 
from us, and now every thing is turned upside 
down. Fathers turn against their children, chil- 
dren against their fathers — in these times when 
dogs of Aristocrats have the power to make good 
patriots tremble with fear. Who ever would have 
dreamed that Barbaroux, our valiant Barbaroux 
who led us to the attack on the King’s Castle, who 
was the very soul of the Revolution, would be 
hunted as these people who call themselves the 
friends of the Nation are hunting him now like a 
wild beast! Oh Lazuli! my head feels as if it 
would burst! ” 

“No matter what is happening, Vauclair, you 
must not give up in despair as you are doing now. 
The storm is thundering over our heads — well, let 
us make the most of the lightning to pick our 
way! And tell me that you trust me.” 

“Oh Lazuli, you are wisdom and virtue and 
strength ! ” 

“ Good-bye, then, my husband. Take care of 
our little Clairet. 1 am going now to make ready 
for my journey, but I’ll be b^ack in a little while. 
And 1 am sure, I am sure, Vauclair, that all is com- 
ing right! ” And she gave her man a hug with 
her strong round arms and was off. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


LOVE SICKNESS, AND A CURE FOR IT. 

Lazuli went out from the shop at a pace that 
sent her cap-strings floating behind her, and she 
carried herself as straight as a rod. Without look- 
ing back, she crossed the Place du Grand Paradis 
and went on through the Rue de la Palapharnerie 
and the Rue des Grands Carmes until she came to 
the Rue de la Carreterie. There she stopped in 
front of a great door leading into a courtyard, and 
after a quick glance up and down the street, to 
make sure that no one was watching her, raised 
the latch and went in. It was the house of Jean 
Caritous. 

As she opened the door a dog barked, a cock 
called his hens together, and Mother Caritous came 
to the door of her kitchen, spindle in hand. ‘ ‘ Why, 
is that you, Lazuli she called. “ How good of 
you to come and see us.” 

“Good- morning to you, Mother Caritous. 
Friends don’t forget each other,” Lazuli answered 
as she crossed the courtyard. 

“ Well, you see, we’re so far off from every- 
body. Living down here at the very end of the 
Rue de la Carreterie is like being at the end of the 
world ! Come in, do. I believe God has sent you. 
You’ll talk to our jean.” 

“ That’s just what I came for,” Lazuli answered, 
as they went into the kitchen together. And 
30 461 


462 


®lie QLcxxor. 


then what she saw in the kitchen gave her such a 
turn that she stopped short. 

In the fireplace a regular widow’s fire was 
burning, and in the corner of the great chimney, 
close to the blaze and muffled in a woman’s shawl, 
a man was sitting whom at the first she did not 
know. He was as thin as a nail, and all huddled 
in a heap, and as yellow as saffron. As Lazuli en- 
tered he turned his head slowly, and tried to laugh 
as he said: “Good-day, Lazuli. Don’t you know 
who I am ? ” 

“ Why Jean! Whatever has happened to you 
that you’re bunched up in the chimney corner and 
looking like this ? ” 

“There’s no use talking about it,” Jean an- 
swered. “1 don’t know whafs the matter with 
me myself.” 

“But you must feel something somewhere. 
Haven’t you a pain ? ” 

“No, I haven’t anything. Ifs just that I can’t 
eat my victuals and that I’m as weak as a cat.” 

“ But you know how you got it ?” 

“ No, I don’t know how I got it. I only know 
that things don’t taste right, and I don’t sleep, and 
I haven’t any strength at all.” 

“Why it must be just your fancy, Jean. Ifs 
all nonsense for a man like you to go off this way 
and not know the reason why.” And Lazuli 
glanced at Mother Caritous as though to ask for 
some more reasonable explanation of Jean’s state 
than Jean himself had to give. 

But Mother Caritous only turned her spindle, 
and nodded as much as to say: “You’re right. La- 
zuli. Ifs his fancy. That’s what it is.” 

But as Lazuli went on with her questions, with- 
out getting any reasonable answers, Mother Cari- 
tous intervened: “Do you want to know really 


£0t)e Sickness, anb a (Eure for St. 463 


what’s the matter with him Well, it’s this: 
they’re no longer keeping company.” 

“What, they’re not keeping company! Is the 
marriage broken off.^” 

“Didn’t you know that.^” asked Mother Cari- 
tous. “Why, where have you been? They’ve 
been chattering about it all over Avignon.” 

“No, no,” put in Jean, a touch of colour com- 
ing into his cheeks. “ It isn’t that at all. I’m ill, 
somehow — and the doctor don’t know, and 1 don’t 
know, what’s the matter with me.” 

“And I say,” said Mother Caritous, “that the 
doctor knows what has brought on your low fever 
and you know too. It’s three months since you 
came back from Paris. It’s three months since 
your marriage was broken off. It’s three months 
that you haven’t been able to eat or drink or sleep. 
Put all that together and what is there to say ? ” 

“ But I can’t make head or tail of all this,” said 
Lazuli. “They’ve been sweethearting for two or 
three years steady, and it seemed a marriage just 
made in heaven. What in the world has gone 
wrong?” 

“That’s what everybody is asking, but outside 
of ourselves you’re the only one who knows the 
reason,” said Mother Caritous drily. 

“ But this is the first I’ve heard of it, and I don’t 
know the reason at all 1 ” 

“Lazuli,” Mother Caritous continued, “you 
know that nobody can say a word against us — that 
not the least of evil can be said against a single 
Caritous ?” 

“Indeed I do,” Lazuli answered heartily. 

“Well, my dear, that is why the Caritous did 
not wish to give their jean to the daughter of a — 
you know what! ” 

Lazuli looked puzzled. 


464 


®l)e Ferrer. 


“Oh Lazuli,” said poor Jean, “surely you have 
not forgotten what I told you about those barrels 
full of silver and gold ?” 

“Oh!” cried Lazuli. “Now 1 do understand. 
And so it’s about that ? ” 

“1 told you, you remember, that I wouldn’t 
marry a girl whose dowry was that kind. Well, 

1 wouldn’t — and so 1 broke off the marriage. It 
was 1 who broke it off — you know that, mother.” 

“Yes indeed, my son, it was you who broke 
it off. You wouldn’t burn your honest hand by 
taking gold that was twice stolen — first from the 
churches and then from the Nation. But because 
you did the breaking the hurt was none the less. 
We know how love tugs at us — harder than oxen 
at a plough. You have broken loose from your 
marriage, but you can’t break loose from your own 
sore heart. Day and night you see your Genevieve 
before you. If you can’t get her out of your 
thoughts, you’ll be done for soon.” And Mother 
Caritous gave a great sigh that was almost a sob. 

“ Mother, 1 tell you that from the day I left that 
house I have not thought of Genevieve. Poor 
ffirl! She is not to blame. She is innocent of 
it all.” 

“ Do you dare to say that you have not thought 
about her ? My poor son, not a day, not an hour, 
not a moment, has passed that you have not felt 
her tugging at your heart! That’s what’s turning 
your stomach all upside down and keeping you 
awake nights. And if you don’t get the better of 
your love-sickness it’s bound soon to get the better 
of you — and then all you’ll be good for will be to 
fatten graveyard flowers ! ” 

“Mother, why won’t you believe me when I 
tell you I’m not thinking any more of her ? ” 

“My poor Jean! Just as if you could deceive 


CotJe Sickness, nub a (Extte for St. 465 


your mother! Don’t you know that ever since 
you began to waste away I have been watching 
you ? Not one of your sighs, not one of your 
tears, has been lost on me. Where did you go 
the other night for your walk ? You can answer 
me before Lazuli, she is no talebearer.” 

“Oh, I went out for a walk. 1 thought it 
might do me good,” Jean answered confusedly. 

“Oh yes, but where Well, I’ll tell you. 
You took your walk in front of Genevieve’s door. 
You thought that you were alone there in the dark. 
But you were not. 1 followed you. You tried to 
peep in at her through the crack in the shutter, 
and you couldn’t see because the curtain was 
drawn. Then you tried the keyhole, and the key 
was in the lock and stopped you again. You even 
tried to look in through the pipe from the kitchen 
sink! But if you couldn’t see anything, you may 
have heard something — her voice, perhaps — for 
you staid there a long while. And 1 staid there 
watching you. You were in pain, but 1 was in 
worse pain. Your pain had sweetness in it, but 
mine was as bitter as gall! ” 

jean listened to his mother’s speech without 
protest and with downcast eyes, and when she 
stopped he made no reply. 

“ Don’t let us talk about it,” said Lazuli, with 
a tone of very genuine sympathy in her voice. 
“ After all, there are plenty of pretty girls in Avi- 
gnon — and love is the best cure for love.” 

“ That’s what I’m telling him from morning till 
night,” said Mother Caritous. 

“All the same,” went on the diplomatic La- 
zuli, “one doesn’t change in a day. It is good for 
love-sick people to travel, to be amused.” 

“Lazuli is perfectly right,” assented Mother 
Caritous decidedly. “You ought to harness up 


466 


(JI)c terror. 


and start for Lyons or Marseilles — or anywhere, it 
don’t matter where. As soon as you’re on the 
road again you’ll be like another man.” 

“And suppose 1 should tell you,” Lazuli went 
on, “that I have come here on purpose to ask you 
to get out your cart again in order to do me a very 
great service, and a service that you alone can do ? 
I can talk right out to you because I know that all 
of you are trustworthy — father and mother and 
sons. And I know that you all are kind-hearted 
and pitiful — and 1 need the pity of your kind hearts. 
All of us must walk our bits of evil road at one 
time or another, and just now we are walking 
ours. Oh, dear Mother Caritous, you don’t know 
how unhappy we are!” And Lazuli suddenly 
buried her face in her hands and went to sobbing 
as though her heart would break. 

Lazuli’s sobs roused Jean and made him for- 
get his own troubles. “ What is it, dear Lazuli ? ” 
he asked eagerly. “ What has happened ? Can I 
help you ?'’ 

“Ah my poor Jean,” Lazuli answered, “all 
broken down as you are, you have troubles 
enough of your own without bothering yourself 
about ours.” 

“You know very well. Lazuli, that I'll do all I 
can for you. And, even if I’m not quite up to the 
mark, you’ll find that I can do a good deal if only 
you’ll give me the chance.” 

“Well, sin^e you will have me speak, Jean, 
listen then. You remember that murderous wretch 
who made it so hard for us to get away from 
Paris ? ” 

“Who wanted to take Adeline from you? 
Calisto?” 

“Yes, Calisto. Well, he’s here now in Avi- 
gnon with Adeline’s death-warrant signed by Ma- 


CotJe Sickness, anb a Cute fur It. 467 


rat. Because he had that order he was able to 
have our house searched yesterday.” 

“ Vauclair’s house searched?” cried Jean. 

“ Impossible! ” 

‘‘ It’s not impossible. It’s as true as that I 
some day must die. But they didn’t find her. 
We heard that they were coming, and we’d sent 
the child away.” 

“ But is she safe now ?” Jean asked, rising in . 
his excitement and coming close to Lazuli — quite 
forgetting the feebleness that had tied him to his 
chimney corner chair. 

“No, she is not safe. That Calisto can do 
anything, and as he couldn’t catch her last night 
with his search-party he’s just turning Avignon 
upside down so that he can catch her in another 
way.” And Lazuli told how the gates were to be 
closed and a drag net put through the town, and 
wound up with: “ So you see, unless we can do 
something to save her she’s certainly lost” 

“Jean has told me about that dear good girl,” 
said Mother Caritous, “and just from what he’s said 
about her I love her. Oh, she must be saved! ” 

“ Yes, she must be saved — and I’ll save her! ” 
said Jean resolutely. “ Where is she now ? ” 

“She’s with some kind people who are good 
to her. You know them — Papuzant, the rope- 
maker, and his wife. But we haven’t dared to 
tell them who she is. We’ve dressed her up in 
Pascalet’s clothes and they think that she is a boy. 
You see, Papuzant’s a Republican of the Mountain, 
like yourself and like my Vauclair — one of those 
good Reds of the Midi who are getting scarcer and 
scarcer in these days. His wife is redder than he 
is, and the greatest chatterbox in the world. 
They are the very cream of kindness — but it never 
would do to tell them who she was.” 


468 


®l)e S^rror. 


“No, of course it wouldn’t,” Jean answered 
briskly. “ And now what do you mean to do ? ” 
As he spoke he unwrapped the woman’s shawl in 
which he was bundled and pitched it into a corner 
of the room. 

“What I did mean to do,” Lazuli answered, 
“ was to come to you for help. You see, I didn't 
know you were weak and ill and with no go in 
you at all. But perhaps your father or one of your 
brothers will do what I want.” 

“ My father’s off to Marseilles and my brothers 
to Grenoble and Toulouse. But / am here — and 
I’m not quite as far gone as you seem to think! ” 
Jean’s voice rose fuller and stronger with each 
word, and he added firmly: “That child’s got to 
be saved, and I’ve got the courage and the strength 
to save her. Just tell me what you want me to 
do.” 

In her amazement and delight at this outburst 
Mother Caritous dropped her spindle. All of a 
sudden her Jean was quite himself again. There 
was colour in his cheeks, and instead of being a 
dull gray his eyes had flashed back to their natural 
clear blue. Her head nodding in approval of what 
he was saying, the old woman stood watching 
him while her face shone brighter and brighter 
with joy. 

“If you will help me,” Lazuli answered, 
“ what I mean to do is this: Before nightfall I will 
fetch the child away from the Papuzant’s — telling 
them that for to-night, while the declarations are 
being made, she must be with us. I’ll bring her 
straight here, and somewhere in this big house you 
certainly can hide her away. Up in your hay- 
mow she can be lost like a pin.” 

“Of course she can,” Jean answered heartily. 
“And don’t you trouble your head about that part 


Coue Sickness, anb a (Eure for 3 t. 469 


of it. It’ll be a pretty state of things if I’ve brought 
her safe all the way from Paris only to have her 
torn out of your hands here in Avignon! ” 

The eyes of Mother Caritous still were fixed 
happily on her Jean, who seemed to be as well 
and as vigorous as ever he was ; but she put in 
warmly: “Yes, that’s the kind of help that no- 
body can refuse to give.” 

“But,” said Lazuli hesitatingly, “that’s not 
all.” 

“ Go on, go right on and ask what you want,” 
said Mother Caritous. “We mean to help you 
all we can. To-day it’s you and that innocent 
child — to-morrow it may be ourselves. ‘ Who 
does good will find good ’ is an old saying — and I 
believe in it.” 

“Well,” continued Lazuli, “the rest of my 
plan means a good deal of trouble for Jean, and I 
hope he won’t mind. To-morrow, after the 
search is over and the city gates are open again, 
I want him to get out his cart as if he were go- 
ing somewhere on a long trip, and I want him 
to take Adeline and me off into the mountains — to 
Adeline’s own village of Malemort. There I’m 
going to give her into the care of the good Cure, 
Monsieur Randoulet — he’s as good a man as there 
is alive — and he’ll hide her away somewhere and 
keep her safe. Nobody ever will think of looking 
for her there.” 

“Only a witch could guess such a hiding 
place! ” said Jean with enthusiasm. “ But tell me. 
Lazuli, is it possible to get up to that wolfs den 
of a place with a cart ? ” 

“ That’s more than I can tell you, Jean. We’ll 
have to find out for ourselves. But we certainly 
can get along with the cart for a good part of the 
way. If need be, we can finish the journey on 


470 


terror. 


foot. But the great thing about the cart is that 
it will get us out of Avignon without being 
seen.” 

“ Yes, and I’ll manage it just as I did when we 
were leaving Paris. I’ll put on the tilt, and I’ll 
say that I’m going for a load of saffron to Mont 
Ventour.” 

“ But truly, Jean, with your illness on you, do 
you think you ought to run the risk 

And Mother Caritous put in: “Just remember 
the proverb, Jean, that ‘big promises and small 
performances bring boxed ears ’ ! ” 

But Jean answered stoutly: “Don’t you fret 
about risks. Lazuli; and don’t you worry, mother, 
about my not being strong enough to do what I 
promise to do. I’m going right off to get the cart 
ready ” — and away he went through the open 
door. 

“ But you mustn’t go to work without eating 
something,” Mother Caritous called out after him. 
“ Come and drink your herb-tea.” 

“I’ve had enough of herb-tea,” he called back 
to her. “Toast me a couple of slices of bread, 
and I’ll eat them dipped in wine.” And he be- 
gan to busy himself about the cart. 

“God certainly sent you here. Lazuli,” said 
Mother Caritous. “ All at once he’s a well man 
again — Heaven grant that this wonderful cure may 
last! ” With tears of gladness in her eyes the old 
woman took out a golden loaf from the bread- 
hutch and with the bread-slicer cut off two thick 
rounds. “To see him really eating again,” she 
added, “ will just warm my heart! ” 

Lazuli turned to go. She had a great deal to 
do before nightfall — and her first and hardest duty 
was to tell Adeline that she must go away again 
into hiding and that they must part. “Well,” 


C0»e Sickness, anb a Cure for It. 471 


she said, as she stepped across the threshold, “I’ll 
see you again this evening. Good-bye till then.’ 

“ Good-bye,” answered Mother Caritous, “and 
you have the thanks of my heart for having brought 
health back again into the house.” And then the 
old woman bustled off to the cellar to get her 
Jean a bottle of good wine. 

On the way across the courtyard Lazuli 
stopped for a moment beside the cart. “ Dear 
Jean,” she said, “God will render back to you 
what you are giving to this innocent girl. Your 
pain will leave you — and courting time will come 
again! ” 

But Jean answered her only by a shake of his 
head, and turned away to hide the tears that 
gathered in his eyes. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


THE WAGGING OF CRUEL TONGUES. 

As Lazuli sped homeward the public criers of 
all the quarters were proclaiming the orders of the 
Council — all around her was the rattle of their 
drums. At the seven gates of the city, in the 
seven market-places, before the doors of all the 
churches, in the public squares, at every street 
crossing, the proclamation was made. Halting 
and beating a long roll to call the citizens around 
him, each drummer cried in a loud voice that no 
one could be abroad that night after sunset, and 
that on each house must be marked plainly the 
number of citizens inside of it—and that the pen- 
alty for disobeying these orders was death. Then 
the drummer affixed to the house front or to the 
church door before which he had made his procla- 
mation a written copy of the Council’s order and 
read it out in a loud voice. Then he moved on to 
his next station and went through the whole of it 
again. All Avignon was rattling with drums. 

To poor Lazuli it seemed that every one of 
those drums was proclaiming that in her own 
house an Aristocrat was hid — that all Avignon was 
being turned upside down simply and solely on 
account of Adeline. It seemed to her that every 
one whom she met stabbed her with angry eyes 
which said: “It is you, wretched woman, who 
are the cause of all this misery! Give up your 

472 


iJlje toaggiuQ of Olrucl (ITongncs. 473 


Comtessine, your little sprig of nobility, your Anti- 
Patriot! Once she is out of the way — hung up to 
a lantern or slid under the guillotine — all will be 
safe and quiet again and we shall be at peace!” 
Cold shudders ran through her as that infernal 
rattle of drums went on around her. She longed 
to reach the shelter of her own house and shut her- 
self away from all the accusing eyes. 

When she reached the Place du Grand Paradis 
these fancies became something very like realities. 
The neighbours whom she met turned their backs 
on her without so much as a nod or a word. The 
whole quarter was buzzing with gossip about the 
searching of Vauclair’s house. Every tongue was 
loosened and had its whispered venomous say. 

“ Have you heard,” said the butcher's wife to 
the fishmonger's wife, “that people say that that 
girl they brought with them from Paris is a daughter 
of a Princess of the King’s Court ? ” 

“And I've been told,” answered the fishmonger’s 
wife, “that when the King’s Castle was given over 
to pillage Vauclair found a bag of gold hidden away 
in a closet — and that nobody’s laid eyes on it since! 
At that rate his trip to Paris paid him well! ” 

The huckster-woman, on her way home from 
market, joined them and added her word. “ This 
morning. the whole market has been talking about 
it,” she said. “It seems that it’s all owing to a 
man from Paris — somebody who’d found out about 
Vauclair.” 

“ Who is this Paris man ? ” asked the butcher’s 
wife. 

The huckster-woman was silent for a moment. 
“Now that’s funny,” she said. “His name has 
gone right clean out of my mind. It’s a name we 
all know, too. He’s always called ‘ The Father of 
the People.’ Can’t you help me out 


474 


2i:i)e (terror. 


“You don’t mean Marat?” 

“Yes I do. It’s Marat.” 

“But you’re losing your senses! Marat was 
stabbed a week ago.” 

“ Well, I suppose I’ve got things twisted. But 
Marat's mixed up in it somehow. Maybe it was 
Marat sent a man here to denounce Vauclair and 
the girl — only I suppose you know that it's not a 
girl at all ? ” 

“Not a girl! What do you mean ?” 

“ I mean that it’s a boy — a young man.” 

“Oh come now. That won’t do. You’re 
making fun of us.” 

“I’m in dead earnest. What’s more, I’m not 
telling you what somebody’s told me, but what I 
know myself. Yesterday, with my own eyes, I 
saw Vauclair taking him off somewhere — to hide 
him, I suppose, before the house was searched. 
Of course they didn’t find him. By the time they 
got there there was nothing to find.” 

“ But people say she’s the daughter of a Princess 
of the Blood?” 

“ He’s more than that! ” 

“ But how could anything be more than that ?” 

The little group was standing in a doorway, 
but before answering this question the huckster- 
woman drew the others farther into the passage 
and closed the door. Then with her eyes as wide 
open as the eyes of a cat drinking oil, and with 
her mouth close to their ears, she whispered: 
“ I’ve been told ifs the son of King Capet — that he 
really is the Tyrant’s son ! ” 

There was an instant of silence, and then the 
butcher’s wife said in an awestruck way: “But 
that would make him — he would be the King of 
France! ” 

“Well,” said the fishmonger’s wife regretfully, 


®l)e tOagging of Qlruel S^ougties. 475 


‘‘ I’m sorry I didn’t look harder at her while I had 
the chance.” 

“ And to think,” said the butcher’s wife, “ how 
I’ve talked to her over and over again just as I’m 
talking now to you! ” 

“Well, my dear,” said the huckster-woman, 
quite with the air of having conferred this privi- 
lege, “all 1 can say is that you’ve been talking with 
the King’s son! ” 

“ It don’t seem possible ! And yet, if it’s really 
so, we don’t have to go far to find a reason for 
having all the houses in Avignon searched to-night.” 

“But who ever would have believed such a 
thing of the Vauclairs! ” 

“ They’ve tricked everybody. 1 don’t see why 
they’re not arrested at once.” 

“ That’s coming quick enough. You may be 
sure they’ll not sleep in their own beds to-night. 
They’ll lodge in the Palace — just you wait and 
see! ” 

“Well, I don’t envy them their lodging! And 
much good their stolen money will do them when 
they’re on the wrong side of a prison door! But 
here I am chattering away about those good-for- 
nothings, and my man waiting all this time for the 
eggs 1 went after for his breakfast. I must be off.” 
The huckster-woman turned to go, but turned 
back again and said; “Of course you’ll keep quiet 
about what I’ve told you. I’ve always been good 
friends with the Vauclairs, and while all this has 
got to come out 1 don’t want it to come out through 
me.” 

“You can trust me,” said the butcher’s wife. 

“Not a word will anybody get out of me!” 
said the fishmonger’s wife. 

The three women separated, each fairly burst- 
ing with the news that she had to tell. Within 


476 


bettor. 


an hour it was known all over the quarter that 
Sergeant Vauclair had been hiding Capet’s son, 
and that was why all the houses were to be searched 
that night and why all the city gates were closed ! 

And Vauclair and Lazuli, although they had shut 
themselves up in their own house, knew very well 
that lies of all sorts were being told about them and 
that hate was being stirred up against them — and 
for a while they felt a bitter anguish that bordered 
on despair. But the righteousness of what they 
were doing supported them, and their wholesome 
anger helped them to face the storm of calumnies 
and lies. 

“Let them do and say what they please!” 
cried Vauclair, striking his fist on the table. “It 
is our duty to save Adeline — and we’ll do our 
duty! What you are planning to do. Lazuli, is 
right, and you shall do it. You shall take her to 
Malemort and give her into the care of Monsieur 
Randoulet. But you are not to come back to 
Avignon — for 1 shall not be here.” 

“ What do you mean ? Where will you be ?’* 
Lazuli asked with a sob in her throat. 

“ I don’t know where I shall be — it will be 
where my duty takes me.” 

“But how am 1 to find you ? ” 

“You are not to look for me. From Malemort 
you must go home to Malaucene, your own vil- 
lage. There, with your own people, you and 
Clairet will be safe. There you will find peace 
and quiet. It will be a long time, Lazuli, before 
you will see your Vauclair again ! ” 

“But what do you mean, my husband.^ I 
can’t be separated from you. Remember, you 
have a child. What is this that you want to 
do?” 

“Lazuli, I went to Paris shouting ‘Vive la 


(2:i)e tXIagging of €rncl ®ongnes. 477 


Nation ! ’ Now I must go to the frontier shouting 
‘Vive la Libertel’ Our country is in danger. 
Dumouriez has betrayed us there in the North. 
He delivered up to the foreign enemy the Com- 
missioners of the Republic. He tried to surrender 
his army too — but that was not possible. The 
patriots in that army — and our Pascalet certainly 
was one of them — drove away the traitor. And 
now that army, half clad and starving, still is fight- 
ing, leaderless, for Liberty! And more than that. 
Traitors have delivered Toulon into the hands of 
the English — have put a burning shame upon the 
Reds of the Midi! The Pyrenees and the Alps are 
black with foreign soldiers led against our Repub- 
lic by all the tyrants of all the lands! And be- 
cause of all this my old comrades of the Marseilles 
Battalion have taken up their arms again to defend 
our frontier. Shall 1 sit here quietly on my joiner’s 
bench while they go to fight ? Shall 1 be the one 
man of the whole Battalion to stay at home and 
take care of his wife ? ” 

“No! no!” cried Lazuli, springing to her feet. 
“Go, my Vauclair! All for Liberty! All for our 
country! See how strong and how brave 1 am! 

I will do my duty! Go! ” 

“Lazuli, my Lazuli, now you comfort me!” 
cried Vauclair — and he caught her to him and held 
her close against his heart. 

Without more words the matter was settled— 
and the fact that it was settled soothed and 
strengthened them both. Being calmer and see- 
ing more clearly, they perceived that under no 
circumstances could they remain in Avignon. 
Calisto had succeeded in turning the whole city 
upside down, and in surrounding them with ene- 
mies. It was necessary that Lazuli and Clairet 
should go to some place of safety; and Vauclair 
31 


478 


®l)e terror. 


was glad of the chance to face honourable death 
with the army on the frontier. They were satis- 
fied that they had come to a right determination. 
Quietly, cheerfully, they talked together until it 
was time for Lazuli to go to the Papuzants to fetch 
Adeline away. 

All of Lazuli’s courage was required to give 
her strength for that walk through the length of 
Avignon*— the target of angry eyes! She opened 
the door a crack and stood for a while peeping 
out, hesitating. At last, taking advantage of a 
moment when the Place was empty, she darted 
out — muffled in a big shawl as though it were 
freezing weather and not the end of a hot mid- 
summer day. Although she saw no one as she 
went onward, and although all the doors were 
shut and all the window curtains drawn, she 
seemed to feel countless eyes fixed upon her. 
Nor was this mere fancy. At the end of one of 
those deserted streets she turned to make sure 
that no one was following her — and saw women 
standing at every doorway peering at her and 
pointing her out to each other, as though they 
would say: “There, look at her! There is the 
cause of all this evil that is happening to us!” 

A shiver ran through her. She felt her legs 
yielding under her, and her head seemed to be 
turning around. But her will was strong and she 
kept on her way resolutely. She avoided the 
larger streets and went through a tangle of alleys. 
It seemed to her that the Rue Saint Chrystol was 
a thousand leagues away ! But as she got farther 
from her own quarter the doors no longer opened 
behind her and no one pointed at her. She 
breathed more freely — and then her breath came 
short again with the thought that perhaps some 
one had told the Papuzants the truth about Ade- 


Qi\)t toagging of Cntcl tongues. 479 


line and that she would not be able to bring the 
child away! At last, trembling, she reached the 
always open door of the Papuzants and called 
faintly : “ Nanoun — are you there ? 

“ Is that you. Lazuli ? What is it now ? ” 

“ Can’t you guess ? ” 

“ Why no,” answered Nanoun, standing at the 
stair head while Lazuli ascended. “ How can 1 
guess ? Surely it’s not that you’re wearying to see 
the little fellow so soon ?” 

Nanoun looked inquiringly at Lazuli, pale and 
worn and wrapped in her big shawl. “What’s 
the matter with you she asked, her hands rolled 
in her apron, as they went together into the kitch- 
en. “You don’t look well. You’re shaking as if 
you had a fever — and with that shawl on as if it 
were freezing ! What on earth made you wear it 
in weather like this 

“ Oh 1 don’t know,” Lazuli answered. “ When 
you’re in a hurry, you know, you don’t stop to 
think. I just put on the first thing that came to 
hand.” 

“ But what’s your hurry ?” 

“ Hasn’t the crier passed here ? ” 

“No — at least I haven’t heard him. I’ve been 
hearing drums since morning, but I’ve something 
better to do than run after drums and I haven’t 
stuck my nose out of doors all day.” 

“Then you don’t know that to-night all the 
houses in Avignon are to be searched 

“ What for. 

“And that after sunset to-night nobody can 
stir out of doors! ” 

“What!” 

“ And that everybody must chalk on their doors 
just how many people are in the house ?” 

“ Why no, I haven’t heard a word of it. I sup- 


480 


Petrov, 


pose there must be some mischief brewing among 
the Aristocrats, and that all this is to cut the grass 
from under their feet.” 

“Well, that is why Tve come. Vauclair says 
that Pascalet had better be at home with us to- 
night, so that we can make the declarations for 
him and you won’t be bothered.” 

“Just as if we’d have thought it a bother! ” 

“Of course we know, dear Nanoun, that you 
wouldn’t have minded it in one way. But you see 
we are told that all sorts of questions are to be 
asked — about the names of everybody’s father and 
mother and things like that — and you wouldn’t 
have known what to say. So it seemed best just 
to fetch the boy home. Will they be back from 
work soon, do you think ? ” 

“1 don’t believe they’ll come very soon,” Na- 
noun answered. “ They took enough hemp with 
them for a long day’s work. No, they won’t be 
home very soon.” 

“Then I’d better go to the ramparts and fetch 
Pascalet from there. I’ve got to get him home be- 
fore sunset, you see.” 

“Well, just as you please about it. But if 
you’ll tell me what to say I don’t see why I can’t 
say it. And it makes no difference whether there 
are two of us in the house or three.” 

“No, I suppose it don’t. But as Vauclair sent 
me to fetch him, and I’ve come all this way for 
him. I’d better get him. I’ll find them between 
the Porte Limbert and the Porte Saint Michel, 
won’t 1 ? ” 

“Yes — that’s where Papuzant always has his 
wheel.” 

“All right then, and I’m off. You mustn’t 
mind my hurrying away, Nanoun. You see, I 
must get him home before sunset.” 


®l)e tOdfiSing of €ruel (tongues. 481 


“Go along with you,” said Nanoun good- 
naturedly. “ But be sure that you bring him back 
to us early to-morrow morning. Do you know, 
I’ve grown as fond of that boy as if he was my 
own child.” 

“ Fll bring him back just as soon as 1 can,” La- 
' zuli answered, and she ran down the stairs. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


JOURDAN chop-head’s GENDARMES. 

Again Lazuli made her way rapidly through the 
narrow streets, in dread of pitiless eyes. Through 
the alley of the Onde she went on to the Rue de 
la Tarasque, and so came out on the roadway in- 
side the ramparts between the Porte Saint Michel 
and the Porte Limbert. 

Far off, at the end of an immensely long rope, 
she saw Adeline turning a great wheel and looking 
no bigger than a pea-pod. Papuzant, loaded with 
hemp, seemed less like a man than some strange 
hairy animal — as he slowly walked backward twist- 
ing the long fine rope that stretched away from 
him across the leaders like a sun-ray to the distant 
wheel. He gave a start and almost let the rope 
drop from his hands as Lazuli, coming up behind 
him, slapped him on the shoulder and said: “Eh, 
Papuzant, don’t you see the sun’s getting down 
behind the battlements.^ You’ve worked long 
enough for to-day.” 

“Why, is that you. Lazuli.^ You made me 
jump.” But Papuzant kept on backward at his 
snail’s pace, for he could not stop nor cease to 
feed the rope, while the wheel turned. “ Ifs easy 
enough to say I’ve worked long enough, but I 
know 1 haven’t. Since the town’s got all turned 
upside down 1 sell more rope than ever. And 
I've got to grind my corn while the wind blows, 
you know.” 

482 


lonrban €liop-I)cab’6 0cnbarmes. 483 


Measuring her steps by Papuzant’s slow paces 
backward, Lazuli walked with him — not ^ventur- 
ing to tell him that she had come to take away 
Adeline. “I don’t see why you should have 
more work to do in these bad times,” she said. 

“ You don’t, eh ? Why, don’t you know that 
in the past six months more people have been 
hanged than in the past twenty years ? And I 
can tell you that not every rope will hang a man 
as he should be hanged. If the rope is too thick, 
or is not laid up smoothly, the knot won’t run. 
If it’s too thin, why then it breaks. Good hang- 
ing rope — the sort that will work all right without 
the hangman jumping on the patient’s shoulders — 
can’t be made by everybody. I couldn’t make it 
myself, at first. But now I’ve got the knack of it 
1 can make it fast enough — and everybody’s com- 
ing to me for it. Only half an hour ago I had an 
order for ten yards of it. Pascalet can tell you 
who wants it better than 1 can. An old servant- 
woman brought the order, and he knew her and 
they went to hugging each other.” 

Pascalet knew an old servant- woman who 
came to order rope from you ? And they went to 
hugging each other You’re joking, Papuzant.” 

“If you don’t believe me, go and ask him for 
yourself. He’ll tell you her name, and her master’s 
name too.” 

“Well, it certainly is very queer Tell me, 
Papuzant, what did the woman look like ? Was 
she old or young ? ” 

“Well, she wasn’t young — about seventy, I 
should say. But she was as gay and as smiling as 
a child. She came from Aramon, she said. And, 
let me see, Pascalet called her Joy.” 

Fortunately, . Papuzant never raised his eyes 
from his rope as he talked. He did not see La- 


484 


terror. 


zuli’s start, nor how pale she went, nor how for a 
few paces she staggered in her walk. By a great 
effort she controlled herself and continued her 
questioning. 

“Then people come here to buy rope from 
you — here by the ramparts ? ” 

“1 sell more here than 1 do in the market. 
You know how people are — they think they get it 
cheaper by coming here for it.” 

“ Do you mean to say that an old woman, that 
this Joy, dared to ask you for rope to hang some 
one with ? ” 

“Well, she didn’t ask right out for hanging- 
rope. Perhaps she didn’t know herself what was 
to be done with it. She brought a little piece 
with her that her master had sent for a sample. 
As soon as 1 saw it 1 knew what it was for.” 

“ No doubt it is to be used to-night,” said La- 
zuli with a sharp sigh. 

“ Why to-night ? ” 

“Don’t you know that every house in Avi- 
gnon is to be searched to-night ? ” 

“Is that what the cryers have been crying all 
day ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ve heard their drumming ever since morn- 
ing, but none of them happened to come near 
enough for me to hear what they said. So they’re 
going to search all the houses to-night. 1 won- 
der why.” 

“Who knows Who knows why the other 
night our house was searched and turned all up- 
side down ? Who knows anything in these bad 
times ? There’s no use talking about such things! 
But let me tell you what I’ve come for. Vauclair 
and 1 think the boy had better sleep at our house 
to-night, so that you won’t be bothered with an- 


Jfourbau (iIl)op-l)eab's C^cnbarmcs. 485 


swering questions about him when the search- 
party comes. They will ask a lot of questions 
about him, you know — his name, the name of his 
parents, where he comes from, and a lot more. 
We think he’d better be with us.” 

“You must settle all that with Nanoun." 

“ I have settled it with her.” 

“ And what does she say ? ” 

“She says that its all right for us to take him 
away.” 

“Well, if Nanoun has said that, 1 say it too. 
But bring him back early in the morning. Just 
see how steadily he turns the wheel! He’s as 
gentle and as biddable as a girl — the best boy 1 ever 
had. Well, I’ll take him to you this evening.” 

“ Oh no, that won’t do at all. Don’t you know 
that nobody can go out after sunset.^ Let me 
take him away now. Make a knot in your rope. 
You can finish it to-morrow. We’ll hurry home 
around by the ramparts. I’ll take too long to go 
back past your house through the town.” 

“Well, if you must, you must, I suppose,” 
said Papuzant reluctantly.* “ All right, then, take 
him along. It’s a bad business, all this prying and 
searching. If it lasts much longer I suppose the 
whole town will be getting locked up in jail.” 

Without waiting for more talk, Lazuli hurried 
away beside the long rope toward Adeline, full 
of anxiety to learn about her meeting with Joy. 
Adeline recognized her quickly, but could not re- 
ply to the signs of welcome until Papuzant had 
tied his knot and had signalled to her to stop 
turning the wheel. And then they came to- 
gether and in a moment were tight in each 
other’s arms. At first Lazuli could aot trust her 
voice and was silent, and when she did speak she 
did not open at once her budget of bad news. 


486 


®l)c terror. 


“Tell me, dear, are you very tired?” she asked. 
“Your arms must be aching* terribly after turning 
that big wheel all day.” 

“ Oh, it hasn’t been so very hard,” Adeline an- 
swered cheerfully. “When one arm got to ach- 
ing 1 took the other. Taking them turn about, 
that way, it hasn’t been hard at all.” 

Adeline’s hands were red and burning. Lazuli 
fondled them in her own and kissed them. 

“ Poor little fists! Poor little fists! ” she said. 
“They shall not turn the big wheel any more. 
They shall go away from here — where all is trouble 
and pain! ” And then she added: “Was it really 
Joy who came here to-day ?” 

“Yes, 1 was just going to tell you. It was 
dear old joy herself.” 

“ But how does she come to be here ? Did she 
say anything about Calisto ? ” 

“Yes, it was Calisto who brought her here. 
She told me that he had come to deliver his mas- 
ter, the Comte de la Vernede. She said that the 
rope she had bought from Papuzant was to be 
used this very night to hang a sans-culotte of the 
Marseilles Battalion, and his wife along with him — 
a wicked couple who were keeping the Count pris- 
oner in the cellar of their house.” 

“Oh the wretch! ” exclaimed Lazuli. 

“When she told me that,” Adeline went on, 
“ I just had to tell her the whole truth. I put my 
arms around the dear old woman’s neck and 1 told 
her everything — how Calisto himself had killed his 
master with the bloody knife that she brought and 
showed us that first night in the Rue de Bretagne, 
and how he had got possession of all his master’s 
property, and how he and Surto and La Jacarasse 
wanted to get the Ambrun property too and were 
trying to kill me to get me out of their way. And 


Sonrban Oltjop-ljcab's (0)enbttnnc6. 487 


I told her that he certainly had come down here to 
look for me, that he might either kill me or marry 
me, and that he wanted the rope to hang you 
and Vauclair — two of the very best people in the 
world, who never had laid eyes on the Comte de 
la Vernede, and who had saved me from falling 
into this murderer’s claws.” 

“ And what did Joy have to say to all that.^” 

“ It seemed to drive her almost out of her mind. 
‘Mary! Joseph!’ she cried, making the sign of 
the cross. ‘ Is it possible ? Can it be true ? Yes, 

I remember the white hairs on the handle of the 
knife — and they were the white hairs of our own 
dear master. "Mary! Joseph! I want to tear his 
eyes out — vile wretch that he is! To think of his 
having his master’s cloak on his back, and his mas- 
ter’s watch in his pocket, and all the money and 
jewels and papers in the big box that he brought 
along! Oh I want to get to him and fling it all in 
his face! He may do what he pleases with me 
after I’ve had my say. If he wants to he may kill 
me and throw me in the Rhone — and then I’ll float 
to the Alyscamps at Arles and in that holy place 
they’ll bury me! Mary! Joseph! What a sinner 
of a man! ’ 

“I tried to quiet her, and warn her — saying: 
‘Joy, dear Joy, you can do no good that way. 
Don’t throw yourself into the jaws of hell! ’ But 
it was no use. She seemed to be clean distracted. 
She tore herself away from me, and went off call- 
ing out ‘ The Comtessine has told it to me! The 
Comtessine has proved it to me! Calisto is a mur- 
derer! Calisto is a murderer! ’ ” 

“ Heavens! ” cried Lazuli, flinging her arms in 
the air. “ She’s gone crazy! She’ll be the death 
of us all ! Come away at once. By this time she’s 
told Calisto where you are and what you’re doing. 


488 


Qi[)c ® error. 


He may be here any minute! Hurry! Hurry! 
There isn’t an instant to lose! ” 

As Lazuli spoke, she caught Adeline by the 
arm and hurried her away — but instead of going 
around inside the ramparts she turned into the first 
street that she came to, seeking a better cover in 
the maze of narrow streets and alleys that lies near 
the Porte Limbert. 

The sun was setting behind the Mount of Jus- 
tice. Already Avignon was in shadow. Above 
the city the spires and towers stood out brilliant in 
the level sun-rays, and the high windows of the 
Pope’s Palace reflected the golden light and seemed 
to be ablaze. In another ten minutes the sun would 
be down. Already Jourdan Chop-head’s gen- 
darmes were drawn up at their barracks, ready 
to start upon their rounds. Throughout the city 
belated stragglers were scampering homeward — 
urged forward by a peril that was very real. 

Adeline and Lazuli plunged into twilight the 
moment that they entered the narrow streets over- 
shadowed by tall houses, and the shadows thick- 
ened rapidly as they advanced. Lazuli was head- 
ing for the house of jean Caritous — and oh but it 
seemed desperately far away! They ran on like 
crazy creatures, and now and again looked back 
over their shoulders in dread that Calisto might be 
at their heels. 

Adeline did not know where they were going, 
and as they ran onward she panted out, brokenly : 
“ But this isn’t the right way, Lazuli. This isn’t 
the way home.” 

“Yes, yes, it’s all right,” Lazuli answered. 
“ Come on, child. Don’t give up. We’re almost 
there! ” 

“ Then we’re not going to the Papuzants ?” 

“ No, not there at all. Hurry! ” 


loitrban (!ll) 0 p-l)eab’s 0enbatmes. 489 


As they spoke they crossed the Rue Saint 
Chrystol and kept on into the Rue de la Roquette. 
Running less rapidly, for their breath came short 
and their strength was leaving them, they got 
through half the length of this street — and then 
the sound of horses’ hoofs ahead of them brought 
them to a terrified halt. To go on certainly 
would bring them face to face with the patrol, but 
their wild fear that Calisto was following them 
kept them from turning back. And then, while 
they hesitated, they heard the sound of another 
patrol behind them in the Rue Saint Chrystol. 
That settled it. They could neither retreat nor ad- 
vance. And the sun was down! 

“Oh Holy Maries of the Sea, save us! ” cried 
Lazuli. And then, feeling sure that no one would 
refuse shelter to two women in such peril, she 
turned and knocked at the nearest door. 

No one answered. 

“Open! For the love of God, kind people, 
open to us! ” she implored. 

There was a moment 01 freezing silence, and 
then a window above them was pushed half open 
and a woman stuck out no more than the tip of 
her nose and asked: “ Who is it below there ? ” 
“I’m a poor woman caught by the nightfall. 
This is my child with me. The patrol is coming. 
Let us in for only a minute — only for a single 
minute, till the patrol has passed! ” 

“You know what the orders are. You haven’t 
any business to be out after sunset. 1 sha’n’t! ” 

“ Have mercy on us! Help us! ” 

“Who are you, then ? ” 

“A mother and her child!” Lazuli answered 
piteously. 

“A mother and her child, indeed! I under- 
stand! You’re two hussies, that’s what you are. 


490 


QLl)c terror. 


This is a decent house and we don’t take in har- 
lots. Go away!” And the woman closed the 
window with a bang. 

Lazuli looked up and down the street. From 
each direction a patrol was advancing. Although 
the shadows were thick about them she knew 
that already they must have been seen. Almost 
in a frenzy she flung herself against another door — 
a cracked and battered door hanging loose on its 
hinges. No one stirred within, and the patrol 
was coming nearer and nearer — she could hear 
the gendarmes laughing at them as they advanced. 
Together they made another dash at the door, 
flinging themselves against it with all their strength 
— and jostling it so violently that the latch was 
loosened and it gave way. In an instant they had 
opened it, rushed inside, and closed it behind 
them. They were in a pocket of darkness. What 
sort of a place they had got into they did not 
know. Under their feet seemed to be a sort of 
muck. Cobwebs covered their outstretched hands. 
“ Is no one here ? Good people, have pity on us! ” 
said Lazuli in a low voice. But there was no reply. 

The two patrols came up and met just outside 
the door. One of them halted. The other passed 
on. They heard a gendarme say: “ This is where 
the woman and the boy went in. It can’t be their 
home. Shall we break in the door, Sergeant ?” 

“No, why should we? By my Red Cap I 
swear that the law shall be obeyed! Our orders 
are to arrest people we find in the streets. These 
people are not in the streets. Attention! For- 
ward, march!” and the patrol passed on. 

Lazuli drew a long breath that was half a sob. 
In the voice of this law-respecting sergeant who 
swore by his Red Cap she had recognized the 
voice of Sergeant Berigot! 


CHAPTER L 


TO THE HOUSE OF JEAN CARITOUS. 

Half dazed by their fright, and thrilling with 
dread that the patrol might return and make them 
prisoners, the two began again to grope about 
them in the darkness to find out where they were. 
Lazuli advanced a step — and suddenly received a 
violent blow in the breast that sent her staggering 
backward against Adeline. The blow was so 
heavy that she would have fallen but for Adeline’s 
quickly-clutching arms. It knocked the breath 
out of her. She could only gasp. An instant 
later Adeline received a like blow in the side — and 
as she already was overweighted with Lazuli, down 
they went together in a heap. 

“ Oh you abominable wretch ! ” cried Lazuli, as 
her breath came back to her. “Oh you brute — to 
strike two women in sore trouble ! Have you no 
mother ? no sister ? you — what name can 1 give 
you that is vile enough after what you have done ? ” 

And to this impassioned utterance there came 
by way of reply a little rattling of a chain and a 
sharp “ Beh-beh ! ” 

“ Why, it’s a goat! ” cried the two women to- 
gether, and bruised and hurt though they were 
they almost laughed. In their sudden revulsion of 
feeling they felt a positive good-will toward this 
ill-mannered creature who had used them so bad- 
ly. “Oh the nice goat!” cried Adeline. “I’ve 

491 


492 


®lie ® error. 


got a bit of bread in my pocket and she shall have 
it. Nanny, good Nanny, here’s a piece of bread for 
you! *’ And Adeline advanced cautiously through 
the darkness, holding out the bread and all ready 
to jump backward in case of need. But the goat 
smelt the bread and in a moment Adeline felt 
warm breath against her hand, and then a pair of 
velvety lips touched her palm as the goat nibbled 
at her good-will offering. “Dear Nanny! good 
Nanny ! ” said Adeline. ‘ ‘ How you frightened us ! ” 
And she tried to stroke the creature’s back. But 
the goat twisted away from her, bleating “ Me-e-ee ” 
for more bread ; and when no more bread was forth- 
coming went to frisking around them and very 
nearly threw them down again by entangling 
them in her chain. 

Lazuli continued her investigations, feeling along 
the dusty walls among the cobwebs for a door or 
a window through which they might escape. At 
last, in the rear wall of the stable, her hand struck 
against a peg that fastened a window-shutter. 
“ Come here,” she called softly to Adeline. “ Here 
is a way out. We must see where it will take 
us.” As she spoke she pulled out the peg and 
opened the shutter cautiously. To her delight she 
found that the window did not open upon a court- 
yard or a street, but on the open fields belonging 
to Notre Dame des Sept Douleurs. Without dan- 
ger of meeting a patrol they could cross those fields 
and come out at the Rue de la Carreterie almost at 
the door of Jean Caritous. 

A faint light came in through the window, 
enough to enable them to see the goat who had 
used them so roughly — a large white creature with 
lyre-shaped horns and a long white tuft beneath 
her jaws. She was disposed to be very friendly, 
and came snuffing about Adeline for more bread. 


tl)e fotise of Sean Qlaritons. 493 


But there was no time to play with a goat just 
then! They scrambled through the window and 
were off. 

Hand in hand they ran across the fields, bend- 
ing aside the thickly massed daisies and buttercups 
with their flying feet. Here and there was a ditch 
to be jumped or a tangle of willow-branches to be 
scrambled through. They heard no sounds when 
they stopped to listen — until jacquemart rang the 
signal for the search to begin. All Avignon was 
quiet — hushed by fear! Shut up in their houses 
the frightened people waited for the search-parties 
to come. Some went to bed. Some sat in groups, 
talking iri low tones. Some lighted candles before 
the images of saints and besought protection in 
prayer. And the “suspects,” and those who 
could not give a good account of themselves, hid 
in attics or cellars or crept into hogsheads or under 
heaps of hay. 

Without meeting anything more hostile than 
the buttercups and daisies, shimmering in the night, 
Adeline and Lazuli crossed the fields of Notre Dame 
des Sept Douleurs, and thence passed along the 
Rue des Baraillers into the Rue de la Carreterie 
without seeing a soul. Right ahead of them was 
the big door of the Caritous house — and on the 
other side of that door was safety! But the dread 
haunted them that it might be barred and that 
they would have to knock. They saw no sign of 
a patrol or of a search party, but they knew that 
the sound of knocking might draw either upon 
them. All trembling Lazuli put her hand upon 
the latch, and as the door flew open she half 
sobbed: “God be thanked, we are saved! ” 

At the sound of the opening door Mother Cari- 
tous and Jean, carrying a lantern, came forward to 
meet them. Even by the lantern-light Lazuli could 
32 


494 


®l)e fervor. 


see that Jean walked firmly and vigorously and 
looked like another man. “We’d almost given 
you up,” he said. “But ifs all right, so you’re 
here.” 

“Weren’t you afraid of the patrol.^” asked 
Mother Caritous. “When it got so late, we didn’t 
know what to think.” 

“ Don’t talk about patrols!” exclaimed Lazuli. 
“We’ve just had a squeak for our lives. But I 
can’t stop to talk about it now. I must hurry. It’ll 
be pitch dark before I get home as it is.” 

As they went into the kitchen together Jean 
took Adeline’s hand and made great fun of her 
boy’s clothes. “We needn’t hide her at all,” he 
laughed. “We’ll say she’s a new stable-boy, just 
come down from the mountains.” 

“Don’t try anything like that, Jean,” said La- 
zuli in alarm. “Somebody might see her who 
knows her — don’t think of running a risk like that 1 ” 

“Lazuli is right, Jean,” said Mother Caritous. 
“Don’t play with fire.” 

“Indeed, I’ll be a stable-boy or anything you 
wish,” said Adeline. “ It hurts me to be so much 
trouble to you all.’’ 

“Oh, I’m only joking,” Jean answered. “Now 
you must have something to eat, and then I’ll take 
you to where you’re to sleep — and you’ll see how 
comfortable you’re going to be! ” 

“I trust everything to you, Jean,” said Lazuli. 
“ Are you going to hide her in the hay-mow ?” , 

“Not a bit of it. Thafs the very first place 
they’ll go to, and they’ll stick their pikes and swords 
into the hay. No, I’ve got something better than 
that. Just come along with me for a minute and 
I’ll show you the bed I’ve got for her. When she’s 
in it she needn’t be afraid that anybody will tickle 
her feet! ” 


(^0 tl)e ^0ttQe of jjean ([laritous. 495 


Jean picked up his lantern and led the way to 
the wagon-shed. Facing the big door, there stood 
the cart — the tilt on, the bags to hold the saffron 
inside, even the hay for baiting the horses put up 
in a bundle — all ready for the road. 

“You mean that she’s to sleep in the cart.^” 
asked Lazuli. “Well, they wouldn’t be likely to 
look for her there, and that’s a fact.” 

“No, it’s better than that,” Jean answered. 
“Do you see the barrow there under the cart, 
hanging by its four chains ? That’s where she’s to 
sleep — under my limousine and the horse-blankets, 
with the little dog to keep her company. Will 
that suit you, my dear ? ” 

“Oh, I’ll be ever so comfortable there,” said 
Adeline. “And it will be nice to have the dear 
little dog.” 

“Yes, and it will make you safer, too. If a 
gendarme tries to go hunting under the cart the 
first thing he’ll know the dog will be trying to 
snap his nose off! But I don’t think they’ll ever 
dream of looking in such a place at all.” 

“No,” said Lazuli, “I don't think they will. I 
shall feel perfectly easy in my mind about her. I’ll 
be here the first thing in the morning — and then 
off we’ll go, Adeline, with dear kind Jean to take 
care of us, to Malemort.” 

“But are we to leave Avignon?” asked Ade- 
line in great astonishment. 

“Yes, dear, that monster knows that you are 
here and we must go away at once. And I’m go- 
ing because my Vauclair is off again to the army. 
The country is in danger. The Aristocrats are 
bringing foreigners against us. Vauclair feels, and 
I feel, that it is his duty to be with those who are 
fighting to save us on the frontier.” 

' ' But where are we going to live at Malemort ? ” 


496 


^[)c (terror. 


Adeline asked, bewildered by this sudden change. 
“Are we to go to the Chateau ? Is any one living 
there ? ” 

“No, child, I’m going to take you to the good 
Cure — the one who saved Pascalet from Surto. 
We’ll go to him, and I’m sure from what Pascalet 
has told about him that you will be safe in his 
care.” 

‘ ‘ Oh yes, good Monsieur Randoulet. He saved 
my Pascalet I long to kiss his hand. And we’ll 
go and see poor Pascal and poor La Patine up in 
their hut, won’t we ? I’ll tell them about their son 
Pascalet I’ll tell them that — that we all love him, 

and that when he comes back — that then ” 

And Adeline’s face grew rosy and she stopped 
short. 

“Yes, we’ll do all that — but we won’t talk 
about it now. Good-bye, my darling child. I’ve 
still got to thread all those crooked streets to get 
home. Oh, if only I can keep away from the 
patrol ! ” And Lazuli took Adeline in her arms and 
kissed her with an almost desperate affection, as 
though she never were to see her again. Nor did 
Lazuli feel sure, with the walk that was before 
her, that she ever would ! 

“ It won’t do for you to go out by the Rue de 
la Carreterie,” said Jean. “ If you go that way the 
patrol will catch you for sure. I’ll let you out by 
the stable door. That opens on the road that goes 
around inside the ramparts. You can go along 
that way till you come to the salt storehouse — and 
from there it’s only a step to your own home.” 

“ Oh thank you, Jean, for thinking of that for 
me. There's nothing to take the patrols along the 
road by the ramparts. I’ll get home that way very 
well.” 

Carrying his lantern, Jean led Lazuli through 


tl)e igottse of Sean Caritous. 497 


the stable — going a little in front of her and with 
friendly slaps on the rumps of the horses making 
them move out of the way. “Don’t be afraid, 
none of them kick,” he said. Adeline and Mother 
Caritous followed close behind. At the end of the 
long stable they came to a door fastened by two 
bolts. Jean drew back the bolts and opened the 
door for Lazuli to pass out. Once more she took 
Adeline in her arms and kissed her. “ Good-bye, 
my own darling!” she whispered. And then, 
aloud, she said: “Good-bye, jean. God keep 
you, Mother Caritous!” And with these quietly 
spoken words she walked away bravely into the 
darkness of the night. 

Lazuli did not think of her own peril. In her 
beautiful woman soul there was no room for sel- 
fish fear. The dread that weighed upon her as 
she walked resolutely through the darkness was 
of the dangers menacing her little son and her hus- 
band, and this dear Adeline whom she loved as 
her own child. 


CHAPTER LI. 

FOR LIBERTY AND FOR FRANCE! 

Jacquemart had stopped beating his tocsin as 
Lazuli crossed the Place du Grand Paradis and 
came to her own home. Vauclair had been stand- 
ing just inside the threshold anxiously waiting for 
her since sunset. As he recognized the sound of 
her footsteps he flung open the door and caught 
her in his arms. 

“ Oh wife! ” he exclaimed. “ In what a state 
I’ve been! Thank heaven, you’re here and safe 
at last! ” 

“ My poor Vauclair! It does not take long to 
learn how wicked people are, and what cowards 
fear makes of them ! ” 

“ Then you know what they have done to us ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? What has happened 
to us ? ” Lazuli asked in surprise — for she had been 
thinking of the woman who had refused her shel- 
ter when the patrol was coming on. 

“ Didn’t you see what was on our door ? ” 

“ I saw nothing. I don’t understand.” 

“ Well, then — look! ” and Vauclair opened the 
door and held the light so that Lazuli could see 
some words written on it — written rudely with a 
bit of plaster or chalk. 

“But 1 can’t read writing. Read it to me,” 
she said. 

“ Ah, my poor little wife! ” Vauclair answered, 

498 


iTor Cibertg anb for iTrance! 


499 


‘•in these words are the venom of jealousy, the 
cowardice of envy, the poison of our life. This is 
enough to discourage and to turn to wickedness 
the bravest and the best man alive! ” 

“Heavens, Vauclair! What is it? You are 
talking nonsense. What is on the door ? ” 

And Vauclair read: “Death to Vauclair the 
traitor! Death to Lazuli the Anti-patriot! ’* 

As Lazuli heard these words the cruelest pain 
that she had suffered in all her life went like a 
knife into her heart. She had known and she had 
come bravely through sharp dangers and sorrows, 
and she was ready to stand up against Fate and 
take more hard blows. But that her Vauclair 
should be called a traitor and that her patriotism, 
which was her very life, should be denied to her, 
was a blow that she could not stand. Her pain 
was deeper than anger. She could not find words 
for it. She staggered beneath this blow that was 
almost mortal, and broke into pitiful moaning 
sobs. 

Picking her up bodily in his arms, Vauclair 
carried her into the house and tried in vain to 
soothe her. In vain Clairet tried to comfort her 
with his loving kisses and with the clasp of his 
soft little arms. Lazuli was conquered by misfor- 
tune and her courage was gone. For the first 
time in her life her faith in what is good and true 
and just and beautiful in the heart of the people 
was broken. She was face to face with despair! 

Yet there was a cure for her sorrow — and it 
was Clairet who found it. When he had climbed 
upon her lap, kissing her and calling “Mama! 
Mama!” she had said to him between her sobs: 
“What is it, my little lamb.^” But he had no 
answer to make to her, and she wept on. The 
hope that he might draw her from her sorrow 


500 


@:i)e (terror. 


made him bring her his top and ask her to wind it 
for him, but while she would not refuse him in 
words she pushed him gently away. He racked 
his little brain to find something that would force 
her to give him her attention, and it occurred to 
him that if he broke a jar or a bottle she would at 
least have to scold him — and that would be better 
than not to get her notice at all. 

And then he thought of something that cer- 
tainly would make a commotion — much more of 
a commotion than would come of merely breaking 
a jar — and he ran to the table drawer and drew 
out from it a paper that his father had put away 
there that afternoon, telling him that if he touched 
it with no more than the tip of his finger the 
gendarmes would come and take him off to jail! 
In quite an ecstasy of naughtiness Clairet drew 
forth this precious paper and examined it. But he 
could not make much of it. At the top of it was 
a picture of a pike surmounted by a Liberty cap 
between two axes. Below were some scrawling 
black marks. Holding his prize in his hand, he 
climbed again upon fts mother’s lap and with a 
voice that shook a little — for he did not at all 
know what would come of it — said: “Mama, 
see this pretty picture! May I have it to play 
with ? ” 

“You bad boy!” cried Vauclair, bringing his 
fist down on the table with a bang. “Didn’t I 
tell you to leave that alone ? ” 

“What is it.^” Lazuli asked, taking the paper 
and looking at it. But Clairet only smiled at her 
without answering, pleased that his mother seemed 
to be more like herself 

Vauclair arose and answered for him: “ It is 
my enlistment ticket in the Republican army of the 


£ox iLibcrtg axxb for iTrance ! 


501 


“Oh, is that possible? Is that really true?” 
cried Lazuli, wiping her eyes that she might clearly 
see the precious paper. “Oh my own Vauclair, 
how much good that does me! That paper wipes 
out all that wicked people have written on our 
door! I kiss this proof of our patriotism and of 
our faith in Liberty.” 

“And to think,” exclaimed Vauclair, as he 
caught her in his arms, “ that I should have been 
in dread of your sorrow when I should tell you 
that I am once more a soldier and that I am off at 
dawn to-morrow for the frontier! ” 

“ What! ” cried Lazuli, fairly transfigured by her 
enthusiasm. ‘‘ Could you doubt me! If it were 
not that one of us must care for our Clairet and 
our Adeline I would follow you! How beautiful, 
how sweet, it would be for us who are of the 
people to shed our blood for our country and for 
Liberty! ” 

Vauclair held her still closer to his breast. “Ah, 
my wife,” he said, “ your words put living strength 
into my veins! ” 

Even Clairet, although he did not understand 
what was happening, and was only glad that his 
mother was not crying any more, fell in with the 
spirit of patriotic enthusiasm by dancing around 
them and piping out in his shrill little voice a ring- 
ing verse of “ La Marseillaise.” 

“ And you leave at dawn to-morrow ? ” asked 
Lazuli. “ Do you go alone ? Where do you join 
the army?” 

“No, I do not go alone,” Vauclair answered. 
“There are fifty of us, good Reds together. We 
are to join the Eleventh Brigade at Nimes, and 
from there go on to the Pyrenees.” 

“Then you will leave Avignon before we do. 
Caritous said that we would start at sunrise. ” 


502 


QL[)c QLcxxox, 


“The earlier you start the better,” Vauclair 
answered. “ I long to have you safe at your jour- 
ney’s end — off there among the mountains, in that 
village where honest people live. Here, and in 
all the cities, everything is corrupted by these dogs 
of nobles and their followers — who turn their 
coats and use for their own evil purposes the very 
laws which were made against themselves. I 
saw one of them at his work to-day, and when I 
tell you who it was you will scarcely believe your 
ears! ” 

“After all that has happened,” Lazuli an- 
swered, “nothing can surprise me now. Who 
was it?” 

“ It was that old Canon Jusserand— the one 
who spit at poor Samal’s banner of The Rights of 
Man that day when the Marseilles Battalion arrived 
— the one to whom Pascalet had a letter. Do you 
remember him ? ” 

“Yes, 1 remember him very well.” 

“Well, to-day 1 saw that Canon Jusserand at 
the Hotel de Ville with a red Liberty cap on his 
head, and he was working harder than anybody 
at making ready for the search to-night.” 

“ Canon jusserand! ” exclaimed Lazuli. “It 
seems impossible! ” 

“ 1 didn’t know him myself, at first,” Vauclair 
went on. “Indeed, at the very first, I thought 
he was Calisto — for they are as alike as two peas 
except that one of them is young and the other’s 
old. It was when I got close to him and saw his 
wrinkles and the sort of clothes he was wearing 
that 1 knew it wasn’t Calisto — and then I remem- 
bered who he was. Berigot was talking with me 
— it was while I was waiting for my enlistment 
ticket to be made out — and he saw where I was 
looking. ‘ Do you know that old weasel-face ? ’ 


iTor £ibert 2 cinb for irranco ! 


503 


said he. ‘That’s the ci-devant Canon Jusserand. 
Since that Calisto fellow came down from Paris — 
the two are very thick together — he’s blossomed 
out into the reddest sort of a Red. He’s a regular 
turncoat. He came here to the Sainte Montague, 
along with a lot of other canons and the Bishop of 
Rovere, and he and the whole lot of them gave up 
their places in the church. And ever since then 
he’s been denouncing more ‘suspects’ than any- 
body else! Why, only this morning, he had his 
own servant and Calisto’s servant run off to prison 
— two poor old women, each of them more than 
seventy years old. It was just pitiful to see them 
getting taken off 1 ’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ said 1, ‘if it wasn’t for the difference 
in age Pd swear it was Calisto himself!’ And 
then Berigot put his mouth to my ear and whis- 
pered : ‘ There’s good reason why they should 
look alike. Everybody says that Calisto’s his 
son ! ’ And by that time my ticket was made 
out, and 1 got it and came away.” 

Lazuli was silent for a moment, and then she 
said very earnestly: “ Vauclair, after what you’ve 
told me we can’t leave Avignon.” 

“What’s to stop us.^” Vauclair asked in sur- 
prise. 

“Our duty to that poor old woman stops us! 
We can’t go off leaving joy in prison for those two 
wretches to have killed. We must manage some- 
how to get her free. Just think how good she 
was to all of us — to me and to Adeline and to 
Clairet.” 

“ But what can we do about it 

“ Well, if 1 were you. I’d go and tell the whole 
story to Sergeant Berigot and he’ll help you. And 
then I’d go and tell it all to jourdan Chop-head too. 
As we know for ourselves, he’s not near as bad as 


^\)t terror. 


504 


people make him out to be. He listened to you 
once and he’ll listen to you again.” 

“You’re right, as you always are, Lazuli. We 
do owe this to Joy after what she's done for us. 
I’ve never seen her, but from all you’ve told me 
about her she seems, to me, somehow, like my 
own dear old mother — who, bless her, is in heav- 
en now! ” 

Satisfied with his decision. Lazuli was silent; 
and Vauclair also was silent — while his thoughts 
went far backward, to the time when he was a lit- 
tle child. And his high purpose was strengthened 
by the memory of his earliest and tenderest and 
longest-lasting love. For some moments there 
was a deep quiet in the little room. 


CHAPTER LII. 


THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL. 

The silence was broken by a crash of noise 
outside — as the Place du Grand Paradis became 
turbulent with a rushing multitude, and the clatter 
of horses’ feet, and the sound of sobs and screams 
and cries for help, and sharp words of command. 
The search parties and the patrols were taking 
their prisoners to the church of Saint Didier — par- 
ents torn from their children, husbands from their 
wives, lamenting; children and women following 
in broken groups, as close as the guards would let 
them, calling after those who were taken from 
them; soldiers in uniform and officials wearing red 
Liberty caps and tri-coloured scarfs — all surging 
across the little Place together in the light of flar- 
ing torches which cut luminous spaces from the 
blackness of night! 

Vauclair and Lazuli sprang to the window, and 
stood looking out upon this wild commotion and 
listening to the shrieks of despair and the cries of 
bitter lamentation which sounded above the noise 
of horses’ hoofs, the jeers of the crowd, the clatter 
of swords, the brutal orders given in brutal words. 
And as they looked and listened a cold dread was 
in their hearts. Each thought, yet neither said, 
that Adeline might be one of the prisoners there 
below them — for who could tell how things had , 
gone at the house of Jean Caritous in that terrible 

505 


5o6 


®I)c terror. 


night when passion was armed with power ? 
“ Oh Lord God have mercy on her and save her! ” 
was the prayer that came from the very depths of 
Lazuli’s soul. 

And then their thoughts were brought sharply 
back to themselves again as the prisoners and the 
guards and the crowd passed onward and a patrol 
came into the Place du Grand Paradis and stopped 
at their own door. There was a loud knocking 
that woke up Clairet and brought to his lips his 
pitiful little cry, ‘‘Pm afraid, I’m afraid!” The 
door was thrust open. Four mounted gendarmes 
remained below to guard it. Four soldiers of the 
Ardeche Battalion came up the stair. 

“What do you want here.^” Vauclair asked 
in a resolute voice. “Day before -yesterday you 
turned my house upside down and found nothing. 
What are you after now ? ” 

“We know who you are,” answered the ser- 
geant in command, “and we know that if all the 
patriots under the sun’s mantle were as true patriots 
as you are the affairs of the Revolution would go 
well. But we’ve got our orders and we must carry 
them out.” 

“ What are your orders 

“To arrest you and take you before the Revo- 
lutionary Tribunal that sits continuously in the 
Red Hall of the Palace of the Rovere.” 

“ You can’t arrest me. 1 have my marching 
orders for the frontier. Here is my ticket. You 
can’t arrest me without breaking the law.” 

The sergeant took the ticket from Vauclair and 
examined it under the light of the lamp. “It is 
all in order,” he said, turning to his men, “and 
the citizen is right. A soldier of the Republic un- 
der marching orders can’t be arrested. Citizen, 
greeting! Brotherhood or Death!” — and he or- 


tlcuohttionarg ^Tribunal. 


507 


dered his men to the right about and down the 
stair. 

But Vauclair, placing his hand on the sergeant’s 
shoulder, said; “See here, comrade, you have no 
right to arrest me — but 1 will freely follow you. I 
have something to say to the Revolutionary Tri- 
bunal. Lead the way.” 

“Vauclair!” cried Lazuli. “What are you 
going to do ? ” 

“ What I always try to do — my duty! ” 

“ But you will come back soon } ” 

“ Yes, 1 hope so. It will be when the innocent 
are saved.” And then Vauclair and the sergeant 
went together down the stair. 

Knowing why he went. Lazuli made no effort 
to detain him ; and when he was gone she calmly 
rocked Clairet to sleep upon her knees and then, 
laying him sleeping in his bed, set about her prep- 
arations for their departure in the morning. There 
were bundles to be made up for all of them — for 
herself and Adeline and Clairet, and for Vauclair. 
She wanted to have everything finished and in or- 
der before Vauclair’s return. 

While she went about her work there came to 
her, sometimes loudly, sometimes faintly, the 
noises of the commotion outside — screams, prayers 
for mercy, jeering shouts, the sound of hoofs and 
of hurrying feet, the hoarse murmur of voices 
blended in a dull undertone that filled the air. All 
Avignon was astir. In that night more than five 
hundred persons had been arrested — “suspects” 
of all grades, from rank Aristocrats to mere doubt- 
ful Moderates, had been swept off together. The 
church of Saint Didier, turned into a temporary 
prison, was packed full. 

At the door of that church, inside the guard of 
horse gendarmes, a man had been standing all 


5o8 


®l)e Vertov, 


night long — a lean man, muffled in a cloak and 
holding in his hand a bull’s-eye lantern that he 
flashed in the faces of each fresh squad of prisoners 
as they were brought in. It was to the women 
that his examination was directed most closely. 
Each as she came up to him was stopped for a 
moment and half blinded as he flashed his lantern 
in her eyes. But from each he flung away with a 
curse and suffered her to pass on. 

It was Calisto — hoping each moment as the 
night went on that the light from his lantern 
would show him the face of Adeline; or, failing to 
find Adeline, that he would make sure of reaching 
her hiding place by finding Vauclair. For he 
knew that the order for Vauclair’s arrest had been 
given, and was confident that before morning he 
would be brought in. But daybreak came, and 
with it the last patrol with the last batch of pris- 
oners — and Adeline was not one of them, nor was 
Vauclair. With a bitter oath Calisto threw away 
his lantern and for some minutes stood irresolute. 
Then with long strides he went off to the Palace 
of the Rovere. where the Revolutionary Tribunal 
was sitting. There, certainly, he would be able 
to find out why his plans for the arrest of Vauclair 
had failed. 

He passed quickly to the Red Hall where the 
three judges sat — dark and terrible, but just — 
ranged at a table covered with a red -bordered 
black cloth. Over their black coats they wore tri- 
colour scarfs, sabres were fastened to their sides, 
and the wide brims of their hats were turned up 
in front and fastened each in the centre with a 
cockade that shone like a cyclop’s eye. They 
frowned at Calisto as he entered, and when he be- 
gan his questions about Vauclair the President cut 
him short. 


®l)e Ueuoiutionarjj tribunal. 


509 


“Citizen Vauclair,” said the President, “is a 
soldier in the army of the Republic under march- 
ing orders for the frontier. His civil and his mili- 
tary rights as a patriot are proclaimed and recog- 
nized in his enlistment ticket signed by General 
Jourdan. He cannot be arrested on any warrant 
whatever. In addition to this, Citizen Vauclair 
voluntarily has appeared before the tribunal and 
has given so satisfactory an account of himself that 
I and my associates have countersigned his papers. 
Also, at his request, we have given an order set- 
ting at liberty an old woman falsely denounced by 
you and imprisoned at your instance. I have 
spoken.” 

Calisto shook with rage. In his effort to re- 
strain himself he bit his lips until they were purple. 
From his pocket he drew a paper and handed it 
to the President, at the same time fixing him with 
his eyes as though fearful he might escape. 
“Citizen President,” he said, “you say that you 
cannot have a soldier of the Republic arrested. 
That is well. But you can and must execute this 
warrant which 1 now give you signed by Marat. 
You and your associates must recognize this war- 
rant or answer for it on your heads.” 

The President read the paper and handed it to 
his associates. It was the warrant for the arrest 
of Lazuli that Surto had obtained from Marat. 
Having read it, the associate judges conferred for 
a moment with the President, and then the Presi- 
dent spoke: 

“ It shall be executed,” he said coldly. 

“And at once?” asked Calisto in a tone of 
triumph. 

“ At once,” the President answered in the same 
cold tone. 

From the inkstand in which it stood the Presi- 
33 


terror. 


510 


dent took the long crowquill^ and for a moment 
the only sound in the room was the scratching of 
the badly cut pen that splashed little blots upon the 
paper as he wrote the order which gave Calisto’s 
warrant effect. He signed it and passed it to 
his associates, who countersigned it and passed it 
to the clerk of the court; and the clerk, having 
sanded it carefully, affixed to it the official seal. 
While these formalities were in progress Calisto 
stood waiting, watching the paper as it passed 
from hand to hand with the hungry eagerness of a 
dog watching a bone. Without a word the clerk 
handed it to him — and with this terrible order in 
his clutch he hurried from the room ! 

On the wings of the wind he went to the Hotel 
de Ville and presented his order to the comman- 
dant of the Corps de Garde. The order was imper- 
ative — instantly seven dragoons were detailed to 
accompany him to the Place du Grand Paradis. 
The sun had just risen above Mont Ventour — 
gilding the high battlements of the Pope’s Pal- 
ace, but leaving the streets of Avignon still shad- 
owy — when the soldiers knocked at Vauclair’s 
door. 

No one answered their knock. There was no 
sound within. The dragoons hammered more 
noisily, bringing a crowd of the neighbours around 
them, but getting no response from within. The 
matter was one of urgence. The sergeant called 
for an axe and a crowto. These came quickly — 
the axe from the butcher and the crowbar from the 
mason. In another moment the dragoons had 
forced the door. 

The crowd, more excited than the soldiers, 
rushed into the house at their heels. They gjot 
more than the soldiers did, for they had the satis- 
faction of smashing the crockery and the furniture 


Eetjclutionarg S^ribunal. 


51T 


and turning everything upside down — while they 
shouted “Death to the traitors! ” and called for a 
rope. The soldiers got nothing, for there were no 
traitors in the house nor anybody else. It was 
absolutely empty. The birds had flown! 

At that very moment Vauclair was standing 
high up on the hilltop crowned by the Abbey of 
Montaud, on the western side of the Rhone. With 
his comrades, the volunteers for the Army of the 
Pyrenees, he had crossed the river by the ferry at 
dawn. Together they had marched up the steep 
hillside, and had halted at last at the Belle-croix — 
the ancient chapel to which the confraternities of 
Avignon accompanied pilgrims starting for the 
shrine of Saint James of Compostella in the old 
days. Below them, in the morning light lay Avi- 
gnon, in the midst of the great Rhone valley that 
off to the southeastward merged into the valley of 
the Durance. 

Vauclair was taking his last look of his dear 
Avignon — and the sun^ as though to cheer him, 
had burst up glorious from behind Mont Ventour 
and had cast his rosy rays in a glad splendour over 
the whole country side — from the pale olives on 
the distant hills and the shimmering willows of 
Les Sorgues to the Rhone poplars — so that the 
city lay bedded before him in a landscape of ruddy 
gold. 

And then, far, far away, among the green fields 
beyond the Porte Saint Lazare, the sun had some- 
thing still better to show him as it gleamed on 
the white tilt of a moving cart — a mere speck, 
no bigger than an ant, that but for the ruddy 
sun-rays striking on it he would not have seen 
at all. 

But he did see it, and glad tears sprang to his 


512 


Ql\)c terror. 


eyes and his heart beat fast with joy. For he knew 
that in that cart — swinging along to the swift steps 
of the white-footed horse who had the right of 
way over all other horses — those whom he most 
loved were speeding to safety. That nestled under 
its white tilt his wife and child and Adeline, and 
with them dear old Joy, were faring onward to 
Malemort in the mountains — where was peace ! 




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